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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.! 



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| UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



# 



THE 



PASTOK'S STOKT 



AND 



OTHER PIECES; 



OR. 



<PROSE JlNJD <POETRY. 



BY 

31> A. H. G-AY. Decatur, Georgia. 



EIGHTH EDITION, 



BALTIMORE: J 

TURNBULL BROTHERS. 

1873. 



i 



r/3.4- 
i?7 3 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the j-ear 1873, 

By MARY A. H. GAY, 

In the Oilice of the Librarian of Congress, at AVashington. 



CONTENTS 



Memory's Chain, 

Local Attachments, 

To my Love, 

Charity, 

My Valley Home, 

The Dew-Drop, 

Is this, then, Life? 

The Pastor's Story, 

The Four Scenes, 

Lines to a Young Lady 

An Acrostic, 

The Robin, 

Pull Many a Flower, 

To Mary, = 

An Elegy on the Death of a 

To Ada, 

Happiness, 

Forget Thee, 

Lines to Little Minnie, 

The Sabbath, 

The Unfortunate, 

Temperance Address, 

My Childhood's Home, 

Tallassee Fails, ' 

The Ancient Languages, 

Farewell to Alabama, 

Sad Heart, 

I Went to the Place, 

The Power of Trifles, 

To Mary, 



Young Lady 



PAGE 

1 
4 

12 
14 
17 
19 
21 
27 
67 
70 
71 
72 
74 
81 
83 
85 
87 
88 
90 
92 
93 
95 
102 
104 
107 
111 
113 
117 
119 
130 



(iii) 



IV 



CONTENTS, 



Lines to my Sister, 

Sing Gently, 

Religion, 

Don't Cry, my Baby 

The Little Grave, 

The Sabbath, 

Oothcaloga, 

Harry May, 

To Sarah, . 

The Busy-Body, 

To Ann, 

Song, 

Willie to Mollie 

A Vision, 

Flowers, 

Song, 

To Maria, 

A Leaflet from Life's Book, 

The Nineteenth Century, 

To God all Trusts Belong, 

A Fragment, . . 

An Undevout Astronomer is 

The Dream of Love, 

My Spirit Groom, 

The Gift, . 

An Oasis, 

My Bird, 

Verses, 

In the Graveyard, 

Evergreen, 

A Fragment, 

The Zephyr, 

Spring, 

The Salvation of the Soul, = 

To the Memory of Capt. John 

I am Dreaming, 

Weariness, 



Mad, 



B. Rowan 



MEMORY'S CHAIN. 

I've chanc'd on memory's broken chain, 
And gather'd up its links again ; 
Old-time mementos dimm'd by tears 

Have made the chain complete, 
And joys long past, and hopes and fears, 

And looks and tones more sweet, 
Are thrilling my heart anew — anew — 

As 'twas thrill'd in other years. 

Again we roam in twilight's hour, 
Hearts full of its witching power i 
Thy voice has caught the melody 

That swells in autumn breeze, 
And like some full rich symphony 

Borne over moonlit seas, 
Is thrilling my, heart for you, for you, 

As it thrill'd in other days. 



MEMORY S CHAIN. 

Be still, my heart ! 'Tis worse than vain 
To clasp those riven links again; 
For fetters o'er my soul were thrown 

Which could not be undone, 
Ere my lone life the glow had known 

Of its meridian sun : 
And all that's left to me, to thee, 

Is memory's broken chain. 

But where spirits their kindred greet; 
Where fetterless and free they meet ; 
Where sever'd hands no hearts divide, 

Such rapture will be given 
As those on earth intensely tried 

Know not except in Heaven : 
And then, my lov'd one pure and true, 

I'll clasp thee mine again! 

As upturn'd eye drinks light from thine, 
And thy full soul thus speaks to mine, 
The moon floats up in silv'ry car, 

Shimm'ring radiance down, 
And stars look out from homes afar 

Like jewels in Night's crown,— 
Words, like heart-throbs, are welling o'er 

With love of olden time. 



MEMORY S CHAIN. 

Again thy soul-entrancing glance, 
Thy dark eye's love-lit radiance, 
Thy last fond look awakes a spell 

As mourn ful as of yore, 
When soul bade soul a mute farewell, 

And parted long ago : 
My sad heart is thrilling o'er, o'er, 

With grief of olden time. 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

There is no principle of the hnman heart more deeply 
planted, or more difficult to eradicate, than that of local 
attachments. 

Every nation on the globe, despite the disadvantages 
of its government or geographical position, clings to its 
native land with intense devotion. 

The Icelander, surrounded as he is by eternal snow, 
and liable at any moment to be engulfed in the fiery 
floods of some volcanic eruption, yet exclaims with 
heartfelt emotion, "Iceland 'is the best land the sun 
shines upon ! " 

The Switzer, far from home, bears upon his heart the 
image of his own cloud-capped Alps, and the blue lakes 
sleeping at their base. 

The Scotsman loves his heather hills ; and the Ger- 
man never fails to speak the praises of his "fatherland.' 7 

Even the poor son of Erin, driven from his own' 
green isle to seek in the land of the free an asylum 
from want and British tyranny, can yet look back with 
"swelling heart and a tear-stained cheek" upon the 

(4) 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

receding cliffs of the Emerald Isle. In that degraded 
but lovely land his childhood was spent; and there in 
the quiet churchyard sleeps his young wife — she who 
when perishing from hunger could still smile for his 
sake. 

The emigrant ship glides swiftly over the waves, 
bearing him on to that land where there is " work for 
all, and bread enough to spare ; " but who can blame 
him for vowing, " I'll ne'er forget old Ireland ! " And 
as he thinks of the magnificent forests of the New 

AYorld, he exclaims : 

■ 

" Often in those grand old woods 

I'll sit and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will wander back again 

To the spot where Mary lies." 

But while love of country is a universal principle, 
existing alike in millions of human hearts, at the same 
time each has his own particular home, which none can 
love so well as himself. Home ! What heart does not 
thrill at the sound of that word? It is closely con- 
nected with all that is dear on earth, whether past, 
present, or prospective. Within its well-remembered 
walls our first childish accents were heard ; and there 
the early buddings of intellect were watered and trained 
by a mother's guiding hand. By its fireside, impres- 
sions were made which ambition and worldly cares may 
dim but cannot obliterate. 



b LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

The traveller may visit the palaces of kings and 
princes, and be a welcome guest at the hearth-stones of 
a foreign land, but he still yearns for home and the 
loved ones there. He engages passage on a homeward- 
bound vessel, and at last, after many wanderings by sea 
and by land, he is nearing the goal for which he has 
sighed. He has but to cross the little bridge, surmount 
the brow of the hill, and the old farm-house bursts upon 
his anxious vision, surrounded by the same beautiful 
lilacs and clustering vines. With trembling hand he 
lifts the gate-latch; creeping on tip-toe he enters the 
porch, and with straining eye peeps in upon the family 
group, all unconscious of his approach. With grateful 
heart he finds that not one is missing from that loved 
circle ; his heart swells with uncontrollable emotion, 
and in the very fulness of gratitude he exclaims : 

" Be it ever so humble, 

There's no place like home." 

The sailor may look with admiring wonder on the 
beauties, the majesty of the great deep, when its waves 
are sleeping beneath the silvery moon-beams, or when 

"The foam-wreath glows with its phosphor light, 
Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow." 

He may gaze on these same waves when lashed in fury 
by the tempest's wath, but yet, "oft in the stilly 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. / 

night " he weeps as there steal over his soul the loved 
visions of home. 

The tottering steps of the aged pilgrim are nearing 
the verge of Jordan. He has but little recollection of 
the scenes through which he has but recently passed ; 
but speak to him of the home of his early youth, and 
the dim eye will brighten, and the faltering tongue 
grow eloquent as it discourses of the days of yore. 
All else may be forgotten, but the home of childhood, 
never. 

Who does not cherish a strong attachment for the old 
school house where first they learned to say A, B, C, 
etc., the elements of all subsequent attainments? It 
may be a humble building of logs, but we love it for 
all that. As years roll on, we may enter a more digni- 
fied structure ; but whether it be academy, seminary, or 
college, our attachment for the place where our school- 
days were spent is still the same. Each room has its own 
peculiar associations, not the less dear because sometimes 
sad. They must be callous indeed who do not love the 
very spot where, day by day, the powers of the soul 
are consciously expanded, its glorious attributes devel- 
oped, while listening to the sublime truths of physical 
science, or the philosophy of the mind, expounded by 
a gifted and beloved teacher. 

Among "the pictures that hang on memory's wall," 



O . LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

is one of a little church, situated on a gently rising 
knoll, and almost surrounded by a group of forest 
trees untouched by the woodman's axe. Apart from 
the world, there is nothing to disturb its sacred silence, 
save the soft hymn of a bird heard at intervals amid 
its leafy shades. At the sunset hour, bow sweet it is to 
linger about this lovely, this consecrated spot, and med- 
itate upon the solemn events which have here trans- 
pired ! How vividly we recall the lineaments of the 
faithful pastor who for years has ministered to the 
people wont to assemble here ! How often from the 
sacred desk have the unsearchable riches of Christ's 
dying love been proclaimed, the thoughtless aroused, 
and the heavy-laden soul relieved of its burden as it 
was brought to the foot of the cross and pointed to the 
crown of immortality ! Just in sight, on yonder hill- 
side, gleam the white marble pillars which serve to 
mark the last resting-place of fallen humanity. There 
many a worn soldier of the cross, with " feet torn and 
bleeding by the way," lays him down in peace to sleep 
till the last trump shall awake him to the resurrection of 
the just. There are little hillocks, too, beneath whose 
green sod lie many a household pet. In every part of 
the grounds, paths are seen leading to the graves of the 
loved and lost, proving that some at least love even the 
city of the dead. 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 9 

It may be my lot to sit beneath the dome of some 
lofty cathedral or magnificent church, where elegance 
meets the eye and fills the mind with admiration, and 
the pealing notes of the full-toned organ seem bor- 
rowed from angel harps ; but yet amid all this splendor 
my heart would wander back again to its own loved 
village church. It may be my lot to roam through the 
beautiful cemeteries of the opulent, where the hand of 
art has done much to rob the place of its wonted solem- 
nity, and 

11 The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, 
And storied urns record who rests below ;" 

but yet amid all this mockery my heart would wander 
back again to its own loved village grave-yard, boast- 
ing no sacrilegious pomp. 

Local attachments : but for this principle, many wise 
purposes had been defeated ; man would not have re- 
mained in one place sufficiently long to have made 
those improvements which so greatly contribute to the 
comfort and enjoyment of the human race; convenient 
and beautiful homes would never have been erected, 
nor stately cities built. In proportion as civilization 
advances, local attachments increase. The nomadic 
tribes of ancient Britain, and other countries, had no 
fixed habitations, but wandered from place to place in 
quest of pasturage for their flocks and herds. Now the 
1* 



10 LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

homes of England show that these aborigines have been 
succeeded by a nobler race, created for a higher destiny : 

"The Saxon, in his pride of high descent, 
And Gaul, with spirit harp of finer strings," 

have reared ancestral homes, which will be loved and 
honored throughout all succeeding generations. 

Some there may be who have no local attachments. 
Such we do not envy, for surely their hearts must be as 
hard as the nethe* millstone. Great and good men 
have always loved native land and native home. List 
to the beautiful author of the Course of Time : 

"Nor do I of earthly sort remember — 
If partial feeling to my native place 
Lead not my lyre astray — of fairer view, 
And comelier walk, than the blue mountain paths 
And snowy cliffs of Albion renowned. 
Nor do I of that isle remember aught 
Of prospect more sublime and beautiful, 
Than Scotia's northern battlement of hills, 
Which I from my father's house beheld, 
At dawn of life ; beloved in memory still." 

An anecdote illustrating Daniel Webster's love of 
home is doubtless familiar to many. He was born in a 
log-cabin, raiszd among the snow-drifts of New Hamp- 
shire. Years after, when his unrivalled eloquence and 
statesmanship had made him a nation's idol, he still 
paid an annual visit to the remains of this rural home. 
His own words are: "I love to dwell on the tender 
recollections, the kindred ties, the early affections and 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 11 

narrations and incidents, which mingle >vith all I know 
of this primitive family abode, and I weep to think 
that none who then inhabited it are now among the 
living/' 

To local attachments may be ascribed the high posi- 
tion which America occupies among the nations of the 
earth. It was the love of country and the love of 
home that nerved our forefathers for the great revolu- 
tionary struggle, and we, their posterity, are this day the 
witnesses of the glorious result — the recipients of the 
inestimable benefits. 

But notwithstanding the many good effects which 
have resulted from this principle, still it ought not to 
be allowed to fasten our affections too closely about this 
perishing earth — it ought not to be allowed to entwine 
the tendrils of our hearts too closely around perishing 
objects. This beautiful world, with all its lovely scenes, 
must pass away. There is but one locality which we 
can safely love with all the heart, and dread not its 
loss! That place is heaven. We need not fear that 
we can ever have too strong an attachment for that 
bright abode. When once sheltered within its ptarly 
gates, we will go no more out for ever ; for there no 
parting is known, and there ce no farewell tear is shed." 



TO MY LOVE. 

Dost thou think of rne, lov'd one? 

O dost thou think of me ? 
When far from thy side Fm gone, 

Who then doth cherish thee? 

Dost think of me at morn's sweet hour, 
When holy thoughts have sway, 

And as the sun in kingly power 
Sends forth his farewell ray ? 

Dost think of me in silent prayer, 
When purest spirits nigh, 

To bear the humble strain up there, 
To Jesus Christ on high? 

If I were sure that through the day, 
At morn and evening's hour, 

And when thou kneel'st to God to pray 
In closet or in bower, 

(12) 



TO MY LOVE. 13 

That thou, lov'd one, of me dost think, 

With soft affection's thrill, 
Though I were standing on death's brink, • 

My soul with joy 'twould fill. 



CHAKITY. 

" Pure in her aims, and in her temper mild, 
Her wisdom seems the wisdom of a child. 
She makes excuses, when she might condemn ; 
Reviled by those who hate her, prays for them 
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast — 
The worst suggested, she believes the best; 
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, 
And, if perchance made angry, soon appeased ; 
She rather waives than will dispute her right, 
And, injured, makes forgiveness a delight." Cowpek. 

In tins age of ostentation and selfishness, charity has 
almost lost its sweet meaning. Instead of the pure, 
spontaneous offering; of the heart, owing all value to 
sentiment, it has become a humiliating insult, resorted 
to by the rich to remind the poor of their inferiority 
and dependence. 

Great attention to public manifestations is no evidence 
that true charity exists. The most selfish, heartless 
being on earth, governed alone by the rule of self- 
interest, regardless of the responsibility devolving on 
every individual to contribute to the comfort of the 
indigent, to " cloth the naked and feed the hungry," 
can converse as scientifically of relieving distress as 

(14) 



CHARITY. 15 

though it were the fragrant breathing of a benevolent 
heart. 

We are not, however, considering superficial or 
affected charity, but that which had its birth in heaven : 
that which suffereth long; envieth not; vaunteth not 
itself; seeketh not its own ; thinketh no evil and re- 
joiceth not in iniquity; that which beareth all things; 
believeth all things; hopeth all things ; and endureth 
all things. 

Charity is the sister of Humility, and they recipro- 
cally strengthen each other; subduing all malice, all 
hypocrisy, and all evil-speaking ; spontaneously suggest- 
ing all that is forgiving, candid, and compassionate; 
striving always to think others better than themselves ; 
never severe on the frailties of others, because all are 
frail; declaiming not on a mote in another's eye, because 
none are exempt. 

Genuine charity leads its possessor to scenes of pov- 
erty, misery, and crime ; gives simplicity to the charac- 
ter; levels the differences of the mind and station ; 
facilitates a mutual flow of affection ; and teaches the 
important truth, that the efficacy of means of usefulness 
depends not on their imposing and expensive character, 
but on their skilful and earnest application. 

Shall we who have acquired the epithets of "guar- 
dian angels," and u angels of mercy," permit pride and* 



16 CHAEITY. 

selfishness to deprive us of the privilege of being recog- 
nized in heaven as the instruments of past alleviation ? 

The most favored of us should consider our own 
helplessness and inutility, unaided by Divine power, 
and let friendship, love, and truth influence our every 
act. 

As an elevated standard gives elevation to the mind, 
let us compare our principles, motives, and obligations, 
with what our Saviour has done for us and commanded 
us to do. And those who are luxuriating in opulence 
should remember they have an important trust to fill : 
to whom much is given, of them much will be required. 
They are imperatively commanded to search out and 
relieve distress ; and to consider their " mightiest efforts 
as a drop of heavenly dew falling on the great salt 
waters." 



MY VALLEY HOME. 

I love my cottage by the moor, 
With woodbine running o'er the door ; 
A green grass covering spread around, 
With blossoms to adorn the ground. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome ; 
But, sweeter far, it is my home ! 

I love the sun that shines for me 
Upon my cottage light and free : 
It stirs again my bee's wild hum, 
And brightens up my valley home. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome ; 
But, sweeter far, it is my home ! 

I love the moon that shines so bright, 
I love the stars with their mild light ; 
They seem to linger near the spot, 
They seem to smile upon the cot. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome; 
But, sweeter far, it is my home ! 

(IT) 



18 MY VALLEY HOME. 

All things around that place I love, 
The earth beneath, the heavens above. 
When time on earth with me is o'er, 
O, lay me by that cottage door ! 
There let me wait till God doth come, 
To take me to my heavenly home. 



THE DEW-DROP. 

" It serves as morning bev'rage, 
We drink it when we sup ; 
In every place we find it, 

Except the drunkard's cup." 

No, you may search well from the bottom up, 
No dew-drop you'll find iu the drunkard's cup ; 
But a B oho a Upas there you will find, 
Which, after the body, destroys the mind. 

Destroys the comfort of the father dear, 
Whose head bears the frost of many a year ; 
Destroys the peace of a fond mother's heart, 
Who never in pleasure again takes part. 

Destroys faith fraternal, in which there's love 
Caught from the angels in heaven above; 
Destroys affection too profound to tell, 
Which a sister's bosom full long doth swell. 

Destroys the happiness of her whose hand # 
Forms the brightest linklet in Hymen's band; 

(19) 



20 THE DEW-DKOP. 

Destroys the golden hopes of children young, 
Whose joyous song of mirth too soon was sung. 

Destroys the last fear of that Being great 
Who created man for a high estate, 
Who alone hath power the soul to save, 
And rob of its victory the cold dark grave! 

! you may search well from the bottom up ; 
No dew-drop you'll find in the drunkard's cup; 
But a Bohon Upas there you will find, 
Which, after the body, destroys the mind. 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 

Is this, then, life? O! was I born for this — 

To follow phantoms that elude the grasp? 

Or whatsoe'er secured, within my clasp 

To withering lie? as if an earthly kiss 

Were doomed death's shuddering touch alone to greet! 

life! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss? 
Must the unattained allure my feet? 

The unattained with yearnings fill my breast, 
That rob for aye the spirit of its rest ? 
Yes, this is life, and everywhere I meet 
Not victor's crowns, but wailings of defeat ! 

1 falter not, for I have a test 

That shall incite me onward, upward still : 

The present cannot sate, my soul it shall not fill. 

From the cradle to the grave it is the lot of humanity 
"to follow phantoms that elude the grasp." The little 
child catches at the sunbeams gilding the floor ; he 
opens his tiny hand, expecting to behold a bright 
treasure, but it is not there. He learns only by re- 
peated disappointment that those glittering rays have 
no tangible form. 

How ambitious, how confident is youth ! Its boastful 
language is: " Others may have been defeated in the 
battle of life ; but, struggling, it may be, with a mighty 
army, I shall vanquish every foe. I shall trample 

(21) 



22 IS THIS, THEN, LIFE ? 

under my feet every obstacle, and at last stand foremost 
in the rank — stand highest on the mount of earthly 
glory. A laurel wreath of unfading green awaits my 
brow. And when, full of honors, I shall have descended 
to the tomb, I will leave behind me e footprints upon 
the sands of time/ which the tempestuous storms of the 
world's commotion can never blot out!" Pause, am- 
bitious youth, and contemplate the career of one who, 
like thyself, sought to win a brighter fame than even a 
Caesar or an Alexander ! Earthly glory was his idol. 
To this he devoted his time, his talents, his best affec- 
tions; for this he was content to sever the fond ties that 
bound a loving heart to his ! On the altar of earthly 
fame he recklessly sacrificed his immortal soul. He 
became the most powerful potentate of Europe. Kings 
and Pontiffs trembled at his name. But, alas, how 
uncertain the duration of earthly honor — of earthly 
greatness ! The hero of so many battles is at length 
subdued. His conquerors decree that he shall be ban- 
ished to a lone, isle of the ocean. There he spends a 
few years in ignominious exile and sorrow ; and there, 
far from his native land, far from her to whom he was 
dearer than the vital principle which sustained her own 
unhappy life, he falls a victim to death, the last great 
conqueror ! 

The howling blast, the roaring billows, and the peal- 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE ? 23 

ing thunder chant his funeral dirge ! The nations 
rejoice that he sleeps his last sleep, and will lead 
against them his conquering forces no more. 

Such will ever be the fate of those who seek merely 
for earthly fame — "of all the phantoms fleeting in the 
mist of time, the most unsubstantial, unessential shade." 

In the common walks of life, with what delightful 
emotions does the youthful mind look forward to some 
anticipated scene of festivity ! Imagination is busy 
sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the 
voluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the 
festive throng, "the observed of all observers." Her 
graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes, is whirling 
through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is 
brightest, her step is lightest in the gay assembly. 

In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, and 
the welcome hour arrives for her entrance into the 
elysian world of which she has had such bright dreams. 
How fairy-like does everything appear to her enchanted 
vision ! each new scene is more charming than the last. 
But after a while she finds that beneath this goodly 
exterior, all is vanity : the flattery which once charmed 
her soul, now grates harshly upon her ear ; the ball- 
room lias lost its charms; and with wasted health and 
embittered heart, she turns away with the conviction 
that earthly pleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the 
soul ! 



24 IS THIS, THEN, LIFE ? 

Mark the care-worn countenance of him who has 
wasted the best portion of life in the acquisition of 
wealth ; not that he might be enabled to relieve the 
wants of the destitute and afflicted, but that he might 
be powerful, and leave a rich legacy for his children 
when he is gone. Does his wealth secure happiness ? 
Ah, no ! He has exhausted his energies in accumu- 
lating a fortune, and received naught but vexation of 
spirit in return. He has sought for gold, and found 
but dross. 

Such are life's scenes ! Change* and disappointment 
are written upon every leaf of Time's book. The 
present seems cheerless, oftentimes sad, and we look 
forward to the future for a " reserved cup of bliss ;" 
the future comes, and we find the cup empty, or sadly 
adulterated. Our dearest joys, how fleeting they are ! 
We place our affections upon some cherished friend, 
and that friend is taken from us by death ; we bestow 
all the wealth of our affections upon some idolized 
object, and that devotion is unrequited — perhaps held 
in derision. 

Life, however, has some sunny spots; but they who 
seek happiness only from the world, find but few of 
them. The gifted Byron, possessed of rank and talents 
by which he swayed at will the human heart, and at 
the waking of whose " harp nations heard entranced," 
was most unhappy. 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 25 

"A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing, 
Scorched and desolate and blasted soul, 
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought — 
Repined and groaned and withered from, the earth." 

The desire felt by every one for bliss which cannot 
be realized on earth, is a sure proof of the soul's im- 
mortality; it is vain to endeavor to sate its yearnings 
with terrene pleasures, riches, or honors. 

There is but one thing that can satisfy the soul, and 
that is, the restoration cf the innocence it originally 
possessed. The purity and consequent enjoymer«t of 
the soul were lost when man sinned against God ; to 
restore that lost purity and consequent enjoyment, 
Christ died on the cross, and if it is made a partaker 
of salvation, it has many foretastes of the bliss which 
awaits it in eternity. And, though bowed down by the 
sorrows of earth, the time will come when the ransomed 
soul, perfectly free from care and earth's changes, shall 
be full of happiness in the presence of the Lord. That 
consoling assurance, O life ! is the cup of bliss reserved 
to allure my feet heavenward, to fill my yearning breast 
with heavenly aspirations ! 

In the celestial home there will be no sadness, for 
God himself shall wipe away all tsars from the eyes of 
his saints. The wailings of despair will there be 
changed to the triumphant songs of praise. All will 
strike their golden harps to notes of sweetest melody ; 
2 



26 IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 

all will be clothed in spotless garments ; all will bea^ 
the conquering palm, all wear a victor's crown. 
Therefore, 

" I falter not, for I have a test 
That shall incite me onward, upward still ; 
The present cannot sate, ray soul it shall not fill." 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. 

" He patient showed us the wise course to steer, 
A candid censor and a friend sincere; 
He taught us how to live; and (O! too high 
The price of knowledge) taught us how to die." 

In a retired yet delightful location, about miles 

from Charleston, reside Thomas Daniel and his amiable 
wife Edith, in the full enjoyment of that serene bliss 
which the ostentatious scenes of the world can never 
bestow. 

He is the faithful, zealous pastor of an intelligent 
and affectionate congregation, to whom he ministers 
every week, in a neat little granite church, almost im- 
bedded in fragrant shrubbery. It would seem that 
some pious genii had adapted the spot to the purpose, 
and constituted its occupant the presiding divinity — 
so appropriate is it, and so efficient is he. 

Each member of its attendance, too, seems imbued 
with a spirit of Christian piety, imparted by the same 
mystic agency, as unobtrusive as their place of worship, 
and as unpretending as their humble pastor. He is 

(37) 



28 the pastor's story. 

one of those high-toned beings with whom we but 
rarely meet, who wants not pretension to give him influ- 
ence and position ; and who wants not wealth, though 
he has it in abundance, to give him preeminence in 
society. He is one of those rare mortals, who, by un- 
remitting perseverance in works, has grown in grace 
until invested with a heavenly sublimity apparent to 
every beholder. 

Gifted with extraordinary oratorical powers, listen- 
ing senates might have hung entranced upon the elo- 
quence of his tongue, and conferred upon him their 
highest meeds of honor. But he chose the better part, 
which will stay with him when the statesman and the 
orator shall have been stilled in death, and when their 
influence shall, like them, have passed away : he chose 
to serve even as a laborer in his Master's vineyard. 

And Edith. Have you seen the full-blown rose in 
its beauty and fragrance ; the most delicate hues, the 
most refined shades trembling on its bosom; the gentlest 
perfume floating around it, as it seemed the spirit of 
loveliness basking in the effulgent rays of eternal sun- 
shine ? Then you have seen that which is emblematical 
of her. 

Matured in womanhood, charitable and hopeful in 
disposition, refined in -manners and elevated in intellect, 
the most delicate thoughts and impulses animate. her 



the pastor's story. 29 

beautiful features ; whilst she moves about, the embodi- 
ment of loveliness, gently but surely exerting an influ- 
ence conducive to her husband's great work ; an influence 
which will shine with undiminished brightness when the 
glory of the sun shall have been dimmed. A fit com- 
panion she for such a man ! 

We endeavored to learn the history of this happy 
couple — these golden threads in the tissue of society, 
these step-stones to heaven — and found it invested with 
much of romantic interest, as well as with religious 
zeal. We give it as it was given to us : 

Edith Baxter was bequeathed as a dying legacy to 
her maternal grandparents by their beloved daughter, 
bearing the same name ; and never was infancy more 
tenderly cared for, nor childhood more judiciously 
managed. 

At an early age Edith developed traits of character 
gratifying to the fondest wishes of these her dearest 
friends, and which secured for her the love and admira- 
tion of all with whom she associated. 

Her father, who, after the death of her mother, 
had resided much of his time in foreign countries, 
especially in England, sojourned, when in America, 
in the metropolis of his native State ; and, on every 
return from a European tour, hastened to spend a week, 
at least, with his little daughter in the country. Each 



30 the pastor's story. 

returning visit more fondly attached the parent to his 
child, and increased the conviction that the duration of 
the absent periods must become shorter. As her years 
increased, so did her resemblance to her sainted mother, 
to whom he was undyingly attached ; and every look 
and every gesture which reminded him of her, but 
strengthened the tie which bound him to the home of 
his conjugal felicity. 

On one of these joyful occasions, Edith learned that 
her father had brought with him a little English boy, 
an orphan, consigned by his widowed and expiring 
father to the guardianship of his most intimate friend, 
Major Baxter. 

The magnanimous Carolinian at once determined to 
adopt the unfortunate boy, and give him advantages 
equal to those of his own child. And during his first 
happy interview with his little girl, he communicated 
to her his intentions, begging that- she would consider 
him her brother. 

Edith's affectionate heart responded to the call, and 
she unhesitatingly received the juvenile foreigner as one 
entitled to her kindest regards and most affectionate 
sympathy. 

Much as moralizing is denounced when occurring in 
stories, we can but remark what a source of gratification 
to the father must have been this happy compliance on 



THE PASTOE'S STORY. 31 

the part of his child with his benevolent wishes. Had 
she, jealous of her rights, manifested an unwillingness 
to receive him, how pained and embarrassed would he 
have been : and how soon, perhaps, have regretted, yea, 
have abandoned the generous design f With no other 
resource or protection, how mortified, too, would have 
been the dependent though noble young Englishman ! 

If there is anything on earth which angels contem- 
plate with pleased satisfaction, it is the operations of a 
sympathetic heart, prompting its possessor to deeds of 
philanthropy and love. Were there many such, this 
world would be a paradise, this life a summer day, where 
no cloud enthralled the sky, no Bohon Upas exhaled 
its poisonous odor. Such a world and such a life we 
shall have when the spirits of Faith, Hope, and Charity 
have scattered from their urns the incense of pure and 
holy aspiration. 

With a heart as fresh as the atmosphere of his own 
native clime, and a mind as clear as its skies, Thomas 
was sensible to every act of kindness by his stranger 
friends, and grateful and enthusiastic in his new attach- 
ments, loving his kind benefactor with more, if possible, 
than filial devotion, and his little sister with fraternal 
tenderness. No effort which a refined and grateful 
mind could suggest was spared to promote their enjoy- 
ment, or to evince to them his readiness to be guided 
bv their wishes. 



32 the pastor's stoey. 

No wonder that these children, brought together under 
circumstances bearing to each other such remarkable 
similarity, should become warmly attached. 

The son of Albion, on the elegant estate of Edith's 
grandfather, equally privileged, enjoying with the com- 
panion of his affections the appropriate pastimes of 
childhood, unattended by solicitude and apprehension, 
ceased to remember his own classic Avon; or, if remem- 
bering, with not more fondness than for the lovely Edisto, 
along whose banks he often wandered in delighted 
admiration. Together with joyous steps the young 
friends brush the crystal dews of morning; together en- 
gage in the important studies of the day; together 
raise their silvery voices in evening orisons to the Father 
of mercies. 

When Edith had reached her twelfth and Thomas 
his fifteenth year, they were placed at boarding-schools 
situated in the same city, where they were soon distin- 
guished for their application and rapid progress : Edith 
excelling in the course of education usually marked out 
for woman, and in the concomitant accomplishments 
indispensable to ease in the circle for which she was 
destined ; Thomas exhibiting characteristics of that 
genius and intellectual superiority which in after-life 
gave him so influential a position. 

Diligent during school months, these youthful stu- 



the pastoe's story. 33 

dents hailed with glad buoyancy of spirit the liberties 
of vacation; and returned to the loved scenes of home 
with renewed affection and delight. 

Time, as it rolled by in its rapid car, drew in closer 
connection the souls of these passengers to eternity ; and 
they knew no dearer tie in nature than the one which 
united their souls together. Alas that so dear a connec- 
tion, so strong a tie. should ever be severed ! The 
period at length came when these friends, so unselfish 
in their every principle — these bona fide lovers — were 
to be separated. 

General Daniel, having passed many years in the 
Indies, possessed of the handsome sum of five hundred 
thousand dollars, returned to England — the home of 
his fathers. Not finding an only brother, whom he left 

in , and of whom he had heard nothing for a great 

while, he immediately instituted a search for him. 
That brother was deceased, but his only child survived. 

This child — the young Thomas — had crossed the 
" Atlantic's blue waves' 7 with Major Baxter, and found 
a home and friends amid the rural scenes of the New 
World. 

The wealthy Englishman having ascertained his 
address, dispatched a letter to Major Baxter, enclosing 
one to his nephew. These letters represented himself 
a disappointed adventurer, who had spent his life in 



34 the pastor's story. 

the vain effort to amass a fortune ; and now, almost 
destitute of means and a confirmed invalid, returned to 
Lis native city, from which, as a prodigal son, he had 
wandered in the hopeful days of early manhood. 

He implored Thomas, as he valued his proud name 
— a name humbled but by the reverses incident to life 
— to hasten to his relief: to come with a heart prepared 
for any emergency — nerved for any conflict ; as he would 
be to a great extent dependent upon his youthful exer- 
tions for support. 

This intelligence was received during a visit the now 
betrothed couple, in company with Major Baxter, were 
making in Charleston. And, though it very naturally 
cast a gloom over the minds of the devoted trio, each, 
including himself, felt it the duty of Thomas to imme- 
diately comply with the, what would have appeared to 
others, selfi h requisition. 

"Go," said the self-sacrificing Edith, "and minis- 
ter to the very utmost of your ability to the require- 
ments of your afflicted relative. Whilst he lives, think 
not of returning to your adopted home; but when he 
shall have yielded to the inexorable power of disease, 
and the grasp of death has set his spirit free, come — 
O, come back to us who love you as our own lives, 
and who will ever cherish your image in our hearts 
enshrined." 



the pastor's story. 35 

" Go, my son," said Major B., "the calls of humanity 
are imperative; especially when coming from those 
claiming near consanguinity. Go, and by your generous 
sympathy strew with flowers the pathway to the tomb; 
and when the cypress shall have waved its melancholy 
blossoms over the grave, delay not your return to 
America — the home of your youth — the nativity of 
your first, and Heaven grant, while Edith lives, your 
only love." 

" Go," said a still, small voice, which spoke from the 
inner man, and seldoni erred in its dictates; "go, and 
however long the term of trial and personal sacrifice, 
however onerous the tasks imposed, faint not in well- 
doing." 

Thus directed and sustained, Thomas determined to 
leave at once for the distant shores of his native land. 
Preparatory to which he desired to bid farewell to the 
aged friends who so kindly welcomed him to their 
hospitable abode, and by the tenderest attentions taught 
him to regard them as indeed his grandparents. On 
the hill-top of innocent expectation of most brilliant 
entertainment the party entered the city — a new world 
to them, glittering with coruscations of bliss too ex- 
quisite for realization, too bright for mortal vision. 
With saddened though resigned feelings, they departed 
for the old homestead. 



36 the pastor's stoey. 

It has been said that misfortunes and sorrow never 
come singly. Truly, indeed, was the saying verified in 
this instance. A few miles from Charleston, the chas- 
tened travellers espied a horseman in full speed. Ap- 
proaching nearer, they recognized the groom of the 
estate. Apprehension simultaneously prepared them fjr 
the melancholy tidings, thus almost winged to them, of 
the dangerous illness of the dear grandmother whom 
they had so recently left in the full prospect of many 
rnorcyears of health and usefulness. Alas for earthly 
hopes and prospects ! One rude blast may destroy the 
superstructure of years ; one mighty cloud overshadow 
the brightest sky ; one bitter frost chill the heart for 
life. 

Facilitating their movements, each hoped to arrive 
at home in time to receive her dying blessing, but in this 
too they were disappointed. 

Unable to distinctly articulate, she breathed her last 
farewell to him who had been for many years the com- 
panion of her life, just a short while before they reached 
home. 

Upon Major Baxter devolved the sad duties of the 
funeral, and in their faithful performance, as in every 
transaction of life — as in the discharge of every duty, 
either public or private, either joyous or sad — he 
showed himself a gentleman of the most refined sensi- 
bility. 



the pastor's story. 37 

Edith sorrowed deeply at this her second great be- 
reavement, but not as one without hope. 

The pale, expressive face and tearful eyes of Thomas 
plainly told the deep emotion within. It would be 
sacrilege to speak of the deep though almost sublime 
grief of the a^ed and bereaved husband — it was too 
peculiar, too profound for description. 

The day after the interment, Thomas, impelled by a 
sense of duty, ventured to appoint the next for his de- 
parture. His friends, as endeared as he was to them, 
and much as they regretted the circumstances which 
rendered his going necessary, were too considerate to 
seek in any way to detain him, or to embitter the part- 
ing moments by an unavailing demonstration of grief. 

" Walk with me, Thomas, to the church grounds," 
said Major B. to his adopted son, the last afternoon 
before his departure for England ; " I have a message 
to communicate to and a gift to bestow on you, invested 
with sacred interest; and there is no place on earth 
more suitable to witness the deed than that afforded by 
that consecrated enclosure." Seated upon the stone 
steps of that little sanctuary, with Thomas, in anxious, 
hopeful suspense, by his side, he commenced thus : " I 
should know of no excuse sufficiently deprecatory to 
exculpate me from the charge of unkindness, in so long 
withholding from you the revelation I am about to make, 
but for a promise I made your father -" 



38 ? the pastor's story. 

" A promise made my father ! " gasped, rather than 
repeated, the overwhelmed young man. a O, can it be 
that he left any message for me? Any gift, however 
small, which may possess talismanic virtue to avert the 
ills which now seem impending ; and -which, not- 
withstanding the principles of Christian philosophy 
instilled, I hope, into my very being by the venerable 
pastor of this church, hang over me as a dark cloud, 
threatening to crush me by their fall." 

Major B. removed the envelopes one by one from a 
little ivory box, which enclosed one of the richest of 
jewel cases. On opening this case, imagine, if you 
can, Thomas's astonishment and delight, not, however, 
without trepidation, at beholding a letter bearing his 
own address, "Care of Major Baxter, South Carolina, 
U. S. A." 

He hurriedly opened it, and eagerly glanced at the 
signature. His own father's name, traced with a feeble 
hand, met his eye, and filled him with melancholy joy. 
Long and steadily he gazed upon the name, entwined 
with his very existence, and hallowed by the innocent 
memories of his childhood, as if to learn of it the im- 
port of that to which it was subscribed. At length 
turning to the beginning, he slowly perused the follow- 
ing letter : 



the pastor's story. 39 

"May 18, IS—. 

"My 'dear Son — When this letter shall have been 
given you by the hand of friendship and affection, the 
one which traced it will long since have mouldered in 
the dust, and been numbered among the dead. You 
will doubtless ask, why the only memorial of your father 
has so long been withheld from you ? If living, pro- 
vided you receive it before you attain your majority, 
Major Baxter will answer : 'Because it was your father's 
request : but for this stipulated contingency, had I given 
it to you a day sooner, I had violated a sacred trust/ 

" For this request, I will myself account. In order 
to appropriately address you, I must, in fancy, transport 
myself through the dark valley of death to the bright 
mountains of the redeemed, and converse with you as 
from the spirit-land. 

" In consigning your childhood and youth to the care 
of one in every respect entitled to my confidence and 
esteem, I felt that any directions to him with regard to 
his subsequent management of you were unnecessary. 
A high-toned, honorable man never proves recreant to 
a trust — never deceives friend or foe. I gave you to 
him in the full confidence that you would be brought 
up in the ways of virtue and peace, and I doubt not 
that such has been his endeavor. 

" To you, my dear son, I simply said : Thomas, I 



40 the pastor's story. 

bequeathe you to Major Baxter. Extend to him the 
obedience and affection which would have been due me 
had I lived ; and be grateful and tender to him in his 
declining years. To one of your upright principles, I 
knew this to be sufficient to insure the most scrupulous 
performance of duty. 

"With regard to myself I have but little to narrate: 
suffice it that I am the son of highly respectable parents, 
a descendant of one of the oldest and best families in 
England. My father designed and educated me for the 
ministry of the gospel, but not considering myself wor- 
thy so high a calling, I disappointed his desire, and chose 
the vocation of law. Established in a lucrative profes- 
sion, and winning golden opinions every day, although 
poor, I aspired to the hand and heart of a beautiful lady 
of immense wealth and of illustrious birth. She en- 
couraged my advances, and we were clandestinely mar- 
ried. As she aj)prehended, from that hour her kindred 
abandoned and disowned her. What mattered that, 
however? AVe were all in all to each other; and by 
my untiring exertions and her frugality, we were soon 
independent of their notice. 

" By and by, you, my son, were given to us. And 
O, what a blessed world this then was ! The very stars 
shone brighter, and the atmosphere was redolent of joy, 
as I gazed upon the baby face of my darling boy — my 



THE PASTOR'S STOEY. 41 

miniature self! But mysterious indeed is the hand of 
Providence. The same hour that brought you to my 
enraptured vision, entertained the grim monster Death ; 
and gave him as fair a lily as ever opened its pure petals 
to light, to feed upon. 

"Day by day I watched the gradual diffusion of the 
florid flush as it steadily encroached upon her lovely line- 
aments without the power to arrest it ; and one year of 
intense suffering and patient endurance added another 
conquest to the relentless tyrant's power, and another 
to the catalogue of the bereaved. 

" With her head upon my bosom, her emaciated hand 
clasped within mine, I saw her die. I felt the death- 
throe ! In an agony of despair, I besought God to show 
compassion by permitting me to die too. I called upon 
the earth to swallow, the rocks to cover me ! In the 
delirium of grief, I forgot there was a remaining link 
connecting me to earth. I forgot you, my son ! The 
recollection of you, of your helpless and dependent 
infancy, came like a sunbeam to my soul, reconciling it 
to its earthly imprisonment, and to the then sad duties 
of life. 

"In the course of time my grief, though never subdued, 
became less poignant, and I often experience:! the most 
grateful rapture in contemplating the physical and 
mental development of the only pledge of the dearest 



42 the pastor's story. 

period of my existence. For yon, my son, I had not 
learned even yet the fallacy of earthly honor — all the 
ambition of my nature was revived. I anticipated the 
time when an admiring world should have culled the 
brightest flowers in the garden of fame, and offered them 
as an oblation at your feet. "With the eye of affection 
I beheld your brow en wreathed by a garland of rose- 
buds, destined to expand and bloom in heaven with 
unrivalled splendor and sweetness. 

" But the presumption and temerity of man seldom 
go unpunished even in this world. His most cherished 
hopes and objects are those soonest destroyed or dis- 
appointed. Constitutionally delicate, the care, which I 
would not permit shared by others, during the affliction 
of your dear mother, laid a sure foundation upon which 
consumption again reared its funeral pile. Flattering 
as the disease is, and struggle as I would against the 
conviction, I knew that the work of death was going 
on : I knew that I must soon leave you, my noble boy, 
an orphan in the world. But a merciful Father raised 
up a friend to supply my place ; that friend you know to 
be Major Baxter, and I repeat that I hope that he has 
ever had and will ever retain the place in your affections 
which would have been mine. 

" In conclusion, there is another duty I would impress 
upon you : you have an uncle, my only brother. Than 



the pastor's story. 43 

his, a more noble, generous heart never throbbed. Too 
confiding, however, he learned, when too late, that all 
were not, like himself, to be trusted. By the duplicity 
of others having been greatly reduced in a pecuniary 
point, he embarked for the Indies in the hope of making 
up his losses. For several years we maintained a reg- 
ular correspondence, but at length he became, if living, 
too much engaged in the pursuit of wealth to write 
to absent friends, or his letters miscarried. On this 
account I fear he has been unsuccessful, and chooses to 
exile himself rather than return to his native land 
without the means of sustaining the position to which 
accustomed. Should you ever hear that he needs assist- 
ance, go directly to him and do all in your power to 
relieve his wants. God will reward you. 

" True it is, that i brevity is the soul of wit/ but it 
is not the soul of affection. In this, my last communi- 
cation to you, I could have written volumes — I could 
have multiplied endearing epithets without number, but 
want of time forbade. 

" Before, however, finishing this already prolix epistle, 
I cannot forbear telling you, my beloved son, that a 
change came over the spirit of my ambition. I would 
still have had you great, but only in a moral and 
religious sense;, still have had you win a name, but only 
such as Heaven would approve. In the spirit of Wes- 



44 THE PASTOE S STOEY. 

ley, Newton, and Edwards, seek to make the world 
better by having lived in it; this being done, you will 
have achieved a victory for which Napoleon w r ould have 
relinquished his blood-stained honors. This being done, 
recording angels will have inscribed your name in im- 
perishable characters in the highest courts of the New 
Jerusalem. 

" Now, my dear son, a long and tender farewell. 
May the Father of the orphan watch over and shield 
you from the ills of life, is the prayer of your dying 
father, William Daniel. 

" P. S. — In the same box containing this letter, you 
have your mother's bridal present from me. Attached 
is her written desire with regard to it. 

" Affectionately; "W. D." 

The contents of this letter rilled the mind of Thomas 
with a pleasing sadness, and gave to it a fixed purpose 
in life. As though he deemed himself unworthy to 
touch an article sanctified by his mother's wear, Thomas 
hesitated in opening the' case in which it was concealed. 
Major B., perceiving the hesitation, and divining the 
cause, kindly opened the case, and drew forth a necklace 
of diamonds of the purest water. Full and complete it 
was, save one missing jewel. Turning it over, he dis- 



the pastor's stoey. 45 

covered in small but unmistakable characters tlie initials 
of his mother's name. And upon a tiny sheet of em- 
bossed note-paper, neatly secured to the valuable relic, 
were these words : " To my dear son I bequeathe this 
memento of the fondest affection, with the desire that 
he will never part with it until he shall have found one 
dearer to him than all the world beside. He then will 
be at liberty to clasp it around her neck, a symbol of 
his love. His affectionate mother, 

Mary Dastiel." 

After reading it, Thomas enclosed bis mother's note 
in his father's letter and placed them next his heart. 
Too overpowered for conversation, he and his friend 
silently retraced their footsteps home. He sought an 
early opportunity to hand the letter to Edith, with a 
request that she would read it and then meet him in the 
verandah. 

The meeting of these lovers on this memorable occa- 
sion, we forbear to describe; suffice it, that it was long 
and tender. And before they separated, Thomas clasped 
the necklace, but now, as it were, the gift of his mother, 
round the neck of Edith. 

She fully understood the import so delicately implied ; 
yea, more, she understood the refined nature which 
appreciated a look far more than the most enthusiastic 



46 the pastor's stoey. 

expressions, and forebore the utterance of thanks. Her 
beautiful face, radiant with love and gratitude, plainly 
evinced that which language were impotent to convey. 

The parting struggle was experienced that night. 
And a resignation to duty so calm and so unim- 
passioned succeeded, that he who looks merely at the 
surface of things, would never have suspected the 
mighty conflict beneath. Or, rather, he who is incap- 
able of such moral triumphs over the passions and 
sensibilities of his nature, would have thought them too 
stoical for lovers. 

At a very early hour next morning, Thomas accom- 
panied by Edith and her father, was on his way to 
Charleston, whence he expected to embark the succeed- 
ing day for England. 

In an eloquence intelligible only to the soul, the fare- 
well was expressed, and Thomas went aboard an elegant 
steamer bound for Albion's shores. With a disposition 
which could adapt itself to circumstances, and conform 
with composure to the requirements of the occasion, he 
soon appeared one of the most contented passengers, 
and did much to contribute to the entertainment of the 
voyage. 

Day after day, and night after night, as the magnifi- 
cent ship moved on its way, Thomas paced the deck 
wrapped in devout meditation. His whole being was 



the pastor's story. 47 

filled with love and admiration for Him who, in the 
omnipotence of his power, holds the winds in his fists, 
and the seas in the hollow of his hands ; and, without 
any positive religious experience, he would fall upon 
his knees and pour out his soul in supplication to Him 
who "walked on the waters." Thomas's lofty soul 
aspired to communion with this great Being, and he 
determined to hesitate no longer in making known his 
wants. Many beautiful passages of the Holy Scriptures 
suggested the way, and encouraged him to seek after 
that higher good, that purer joy, that loftier love for 
which his religious instincts kept longing. As a little 
child he cried, Lord, save, or I perish ! This was the 
way and the only way to be healed with that balm which 
grew by the pure waters of Grilead. A beautiful evan- 
gelical faith filled his heart with praise and thanks- 
giving to the dear Saviour, who had often extended to 
him a sustaining influence. 

Tliomas was a Christian ! O how he longed to tell 
Edith of this great work in his heart ! O, how he 
longed that the world might be encompassed by this 
wondrous love ! 

After an auspicious and delightful voyage, the vessel 
anchored at . 

With a heart fortified by manly resolve and Christian 
purpose, Thomas stepped ashore. The clear depths of 



48 the pastor's story. 

his dark eyes betrayed to every beholder this resolve — 
this purpose. 'And none could look, even casually, into 
his earnest, thoughtful face, without being impressed 
with the superiority of the indwelling spirit. 

Inclination, as well as a sense of duty, urged him to 
delay no time in going to the city of his uncle's abode. 
Arrived there, he at once went in search of him. Aided 
by the directions enclosed in the letter received in Amer- 
ica, he soon found the humble dwelling. "With a com- 
posed and determined step he approached the door. 
Gently rapping, he received as response an invitation 
to "come in." Thomas's feelings and emotions, upon 
entering that poor and unfinished apartment, were bet- 
ter imagined than described. 

On a rude bedstead, upon which was only a thin 
mattress, lay the once proud form of General Daniel. 
A moment sufficed to establish in the mind of the 
nephew the identity of the uncle. The resemblance to 
his father, whom he remembered well, was too apparent 
to be imaginary. He was overwhelmed by a thousand 
thoughts, and in a moment of uncontrollable feeling he 
rushed to his side, and clasped his astonished uncle in 
his arms. "My uncle ! " "My nephew ! " were the 
proud exclamations of these stranger relatives. Though 
apparently reduced to penury, Thomas saw in the eye, 
and in the curve of the thin lip, unmistakable indica- 



THE PASTOES STORY. 49 

tions of the soul's nobility. And but for a certain un- 
definable something in his manner, which he could not 
reconcile to this nobility, he would have gloried to call 
him uncle — gloried to minister to his adverse situation. 
Were it prudent, time would not allow us to repeat the 
affectionate conversation which ensued ; before it ended, 
however, General D. was satisfied that his brother's son 
was not ashamed of the relationship, and that his high- 
est pleasure would be to serve him. 

Though too much interested to think of dinner on 
his own account, Thomas knew that his uncle needed 
refreshment, and he was anxious to procure it. Owing 
to the generous supply his American friend, Major B., 
had slipped into his hand as he bade him farewell, he 
yet had ample means for many weeks' support. But 
how to go about providing for the present occasion, 
especially when so refined a person was the object of it, 
he was at a loss to devise. 

Apprehending the cause of embarrassment, General 
D. asked his nephew to place the little table which 
stood in the corner, by his bedside. Having complied, 
his uncle removed a coarse but snow-white covering, 
and, to his gratification, he beheld, if not the most 
choice articles of food for an invalid, those which were 
quite suitable. Perceiving there was an abundance, he 
did not hesitate to share the humble meal. Humble as 
3 



50 the pastok's story. 

it was, the host, however, went through with all the 
formalities of a courtly entertainment, and before they 
had finished the repast, his nephew was convinced in 
his own mind that he was either a monomaniac, or a 
proud man of the world, who rebelled against the 
decrees of Providence. 

In the course of the afternoon, General D. informed 
Thomas that he had some important business to which 
he wished him immediately to attend, as the delay of 
even a few hours might be attended with disadvantage. 
Ready to perform any duty, and anxious to obtain if 
possible a clue to his uncle's state of mind, he received 
a bundle of papers, with verbal instructions as to the 
locality of those to whom the business appertained. 

"This being accomplished," said General D., "the 
afternoon will be nearly spent ; but however late, I then 
want you to go a little way up the river and call at the 
elegant mansion of my namesake, General Daniel, and 
deliver into his own hand this letter. Do not ask 
directions — you cannot fail to find the place." 

Thomas complied with his uncle's desires with regard 
to the letter. Having finished arrangements with the at- 
torneys, he proceeded to the elegant mansion on the bor- 
ders of the Avon. To the servant who answered his ring 
he handed his card, with a request to see the master im- 
mediately on urgent business. The servant soon returned 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. 51 

with a kind invitation to him to go to the chamber 
of the General, as he was too indisposed to see him 
elsewhere. 

Ushered into one of the most princely apartments, 
imagine the surprise of Thomas as he beheld, clad in 
purple and fine linen, the very same uncle whom he had 
but so recently left in one of the most obscure domiciles 
in the city. He could scarcely credit his own senses, 
so mysterious did everything appear. General D., feel- 
ing that it would be unkind to keep him longer in sus- 
pense, extended to him his hand, with but these words, 
"My nephew!" Words which sent a thrill of joy to 
his heart but that very morning, now fell upon his ears 
without inspiring a single emotion of pleasure. Quick 
as thought he comprehended all. His uncle was very 
wealthy, and had resorted to this expedient to force him 
from his friends in America — to recall him to England. 
He was disappointed, almost vexed. General Daniel, 
perceiving this, rendered satisfactory reasons for the 
" innocent hoax." Returning to his native home with 
wealth that would have satisfied the most avaricious, 
and having no heir upon whom to bestow it, he resolved 
to adopt his only nephew, whom he had never seen, to 
inherit his magnificent estates. In order to convince 
himself that this nephew was deserving his generosity, 
he conceived the plot to deceive him, and see how he 



52 the pastok's stoky. 

would yield compliance to his requests. In one respect 
lie did not deceive : he was indeed in rapidly declining 
health. And, as a dutiful and affectionate relative, 
Thomas ministered to the comfort and enjoyment of his 
last days. 

A few months of unremitting suffering completed its 
work ; and he who had spent his life in the acquisition 
of wealth and worldly honors, discovered, when too 
late, that they could avail nothing in the 'hour of death. 
Notwithstanding the prayers and entreaties of his pious 
nephew, this man of the world died as he had lived, 
unmindful of his soul's salvation. 

When Thomas had discharged the last sad duties to 
his only uncle and known relative, he fully realized 
that he was a stranger among strangers ; and his heart 
instinctively turned with all its yearnings to his home 
and friends in America. 

He immediately wrote to Major Baxter and to Edith, 
informing them of the melancholy though expected 
event, and for the first time made known to them the 
" hoax." Judging them by the majority of persons, 
he had erroneously supposed that upon discovering that 
his uncle needed not his assistance, they would think he 
ought to return to his adopted home, and he had avoided 
alluding to his situation ; and had even retained, with 
the warmest expression of thanks, several considerable 



the pastor's story. 53 

sums of money, remitted to him by his dear friend 
" across the waters." 

Strange, unaccountably strange, to Thomas, month 
after month elapsed, and no answer came to any of these 
letters. He never for a moment questioned the fidelity 
of his friends. O no ! he knew them too well for that. 
In the agony of suspense, he determined to sail without 
delay for America. But, then, although sole heir, his 
deceased uncle's business had to be adjusted according 
to law, and it was indispensable that he should give it 
his personal attention. 

Besides this important reason for remaining awhile in 
England, there was yet another, which, though he him- 
self could scarcely explain, was even more controlling. 
While yet in doubt with regard to the cause of his not 
receiving answers from his Carolina friends, an impres- 
sion, bordering on certainty, existed in his mind that 
something stranger, more gratifying perhaps than any 
thing preceding it, awaited him, and prevented him 
from carrying out his premature determination to leave. 

Many a starlit evening he wandered alone on the 
classic shores of the grand old river winding by his 
beautiful home, absorbed in earnest thought or religious 
meditation : thought inspired by the enchanting solitude 
and mystic melodies of the majestic old trees, standing 
like sentinels to guard ancestral inheritance, around the 



54 the pastoe's story. 

princely mansion ; and the peculiar 'plaintive song of the 
boatman, as it told its tale of love. .Memory, too, was 
often at work, and by its magic power he lived over 
again the loved season spent with Edith in a distant 
land. Each glance of her cerulean eyes beamed npon 
him with the same tender fervor ; each softened intona- 
tion of her musical voice was borne on the fragrant 
zephyrs, and vibrated upon the harp-strings of his soul. 
He saw her point to heaven, and bid him hope. And 
that same beautiful faith, which sprang up in his soul 
on his voyage hither, dispelled all depressing forebod- 
ings, and inspired his tongue with songs of praise and 
rejoicing. 

In one of his solitary rambles, Thomas observed at a 
distance a stately form, which at once riveted his eye. 
Advancing nearer, he beheld the commanding figure of 
an aged gentleman, whose appearance united the nobil- 
ity of nature with the aristocrat of society. Admira- 
tion and reverence at once took possession of him, and 
he involuntarily raised his hat until he passed him. 
The interest was mutual. 

There is something truly inexplicable in the affinity 
which kindred spirits bear to each other. Thomas felt 
that he had seen his own prototype, and with a sort of 
enthusiastic impatience he wanted to see more of it. 
Day after day he wandered in the same direction, with 



the pastor's stoey. 55 

no other motive than that of meeting this mysterious 
personage. He had a sort of vague, superstitious idea, 
despite his better knowledge, that there was something 
more than humanity associated with him, and that there 
was an invisible link connecting their beings, and he 
longed most ardently for its discovery. 

Each recurrence of these meetings more fully estab- 
lished in the minds of each that there was a magnetic 
principle implanted within which could not resist its 
kindred influence. On an early occasion they met. 
Through the eye their souls went forth, and in one long 
embrace united never more to separate — Thomas and 
his grandfather. With thanksgiving, such as the angel 
bands of heaven might stoop to hear, these rejoicing 
spirits made the woods resound. " Praise Grod, O my 
soul ! for this happy day, this glorious privilege ! O, 
my daughter ! whose sacred name I am not worthy to 
call ! thou whom I so unjustly discarded from all the 
loved endearments of mother and home ! look down 
from thy bright habitation in heaven, and see how en- 
tirely my heart bows in humble supplication to thee for 
pardon ! And hear my solemn vow to atone, to 
the very extent of my ability, to the son for the mother's 
wrongs." 

Such, and the like, were the contrite exclamations of 
that once inexorable old gentleman, who had in earlier 



56 the pastor's story. 

life made all the tender impulses of the heart but 
secondary considerations ; who had made every principle 
of his nature — and there were many of an excellent 
character — subserve the arbitrary conventionalities of 
the sphere in which he was born and reared. Thomas's 
rejoicing was similar to that of his grandfather, varied 
only by years and circumstances. 

By the earliest mail he dispatched other letters to 
Edith and her father, containing a full account of this 
happy interview. He implored her to delay not an 
answer, as everything earthly was as nothing compared 
with his all-absorbing love for her. He told her that 
without the hope of her pious example through life, 
without her gentle guidance through the dangerous 
vortex of wealth, he feared he would be engulfed 
in its dark waters. He told her how he had already 
conceived the idea of endowing a religious and literary 
institution, and begged her advice and cooperation. 

Again months passed, and no reply rewarded his 
fidelity. Again he determined to embark for America. 
To his aged grandfather he confided the history of his 
love, and his reasons for desiring to leave England at 
this important crisis ; and, to his gratification, the old 
gentleman approved his course. 

The afternoon preceding his contemplated departure, 
as strolling pensively, he scarcely knew whither, he 



the pastor's story. 57 

came in the vicinity of an establishment of choice jew- 
elry. As if grateful to that chance which had directed 
his steps hither, he entered, determined to make a selec- 
tion of a plain but valuable ring which he intended 
presenting Edith. 

Having made the selection, Thomas had turned to 
leave, when the salesman, anxious to secure the patron- 
age of one evidently able to afford it, begged that he 
would examine a case of antique though magnificent 
diamonds. Leisure allowing, courtesy prompted him 
to grant the request. Admiringly he examined several 
articles, which, from their antiquated style, appeared 
relics indeed. But, O heavens ! what was his con- 
sternation when he beheld the very same necklace he 
had clasped round Edith's neck the night preceding his 
departure from America ! He could not be mistaken ; 
there it was, with one diamond missing, and his mother's 
initials ! His frame shook as in an ague fit ; his head 
reeled as if intoxicated, and he was obliged to cling to 
a column near by for support. But a few moments 
were lost in this way : he seized the necklace, and per- 
emptorily demanded its price and the manner in which 
it was obtained. The polite and gentlemanly salesman, 
understanding the heart-workings which had thus 
thrown his noble visitor off his guard, gave him a cor- 
rect account of his purchase of the article hallowed by 
3* 



58 the pastor's stoey. 

the strongest ties in nature. The account, however, 
furnished Thomas no clue to the real state of affairs, 
but rather supplied grounds for the most heart-rending 
suspicion. 

That Edith was in England he doubted not ; but 
under what circumstances, Conjecture failed to furnish 
one that was satisfactory. He resolved to lose no time 
in efforts of discovery. Every hotel and boarding- 
house in the city he daily visited ; every place of public 
amusement and entertainment he attended, in hope of 
seeing; the idol of his affections. 

Just as hope had well-nigh ceased to animate his 
exertions, an incident of a most thrilling character oc- 
curred in the near vicinity of his residence ; an incident 
which enlisted his sympathy and interest, and again 
stimulated him to action, 

An aged man, who, though in very indigent circum- 
stances, had by numerous little offices of kindness and 
accommodation endeared himself to a large circle of 
acquaintances, was, in the stillness of darkness, broken 
in upon by several of a banditti which had for months 
infested the country with defiant boldness, and gagged 
and bound so as to be unable to oppose them. Whilst 
the father was thus incapacitated, these men of sin noise- 
lessly proceeded to the room occupied by his two 
daughters. Not arousing until too late for effective re- 



the pastor's story. 59 

distance, these unoffending females, who, save on errands 
of usefulness, seldom went beyond their father's hum- 
ble enclosure, were securely fettered and also gagged ; 
then forced from the house and placed each upon an 
elegant horse, destined, by the sad perversion of the 
useful, to carry two persons as unlike as midnight and 
noonday — an ambassador of darkness and a spirit of 
light. So it is with life: the vile and the pure how 
often, alas ! closely drawn together. 

Thus mounted, these terrified maidens, the younger 
of whom was just verging into womanhood, were hurried 
they knew not whither. Just as day — a day that 
brought no light to them — was dawning, they were 
mockingly ushered into a capacious but unfurnished 
drawing-room of what appeared to them an untenanted 
old castle, and begged in the same mocking manner to 
feel perfectly at ease in their new abode, notwithstanding 
the contrast to the one from which they came. In a few 
moments they were conducted with much ceremony to a 
private apartment, which already contained as pure an 
occupant as ever graced courtly hall or princely saloon, 
and bade to hold themselves in readiness for further 
orders, Brought together under circumstances so mys- 
terious and humiliating, these unfortunate girls were not 
long in learning each other's history; and, notwith- 
standing the uncertainty of their own fate, the sisters 



60 the pastor's story. 



seemed to forget their situation, so great was their com- 
miseration for the gentle creature who had previously 
been abducted and forced into this rendezvous of 
iniquity. 

As "the darkest day has gleams of light/ 7 so even 
this dark place was not without its aperture through 
which feebly gleamed a ray of hope. 

Unacquainted with the world, and allured by the 
most plausible and seductive promises, a young man of 
some very excellent qualities, with his little patrimony 
in his pocket, had been induced to' unite his interest 
with that of these "speculators," many of whom 
mingled as gentlemen in a respectable (?) class of the 
community; and not until too late to rescue his all from 
their nefarious covetous n ess, did he discover the nature 
of their " speculations ; " how, with a long catalogue of 
the most fearful transgressions, they combined that of 
abducting innocent females and retaining them in cap- 
tivity until rewards satisfying their cupidity were 
offered. Then some of the band, who, disguised in the 
garb of gentlemen, walked the streets every clay, eager 
to obtain the prize, soon, despite " opposition," and 
oftentimes "bloodshed," bore the captives in triumph 
to their rejoicing friends. All this he discovered, and 
he resolved, though his life should pay the forfeit, to 
expose the villainy; in order to do which, and to safely 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. 61 

effect his escape, he had to seem as one of them, taking 
care not to participate in actual crime. 

Just as he had matured plans by which to prosecute 
his intentions, the first of these fair captives was brought 
hither. He then abandoned all thought of leaving as 
long as she remained in this gloomy imprisonment; and 
to mitigate her sufferings, to screen her as much as 
possible from insult, and to inspire her with hope and 
cheerfulness was his constant care. Without the cer- 
tainty of her release, too, freedom, even from this odious 
place, could not have been given him. To add to his 
solicitude and care, the other two were brought and 
likewise confined. Decision wavered no longer. Ad- 
vising the girls of his plans, and begging them to feign 
entire ignorance of him should they be interrogated, he 
went to those of the conspirators who were there, and 
told them that their " Captain "■ had left orders with 

him to be at precisely at one o'clock that night. 

So ingeniously did this young man fabricate his story, 
that even these bad men yielded ready credence, and 
offered no objection to the proposed excursion. Mount- 
ing one of their fleetest horses, he put off at a rapid 
rate in the direction designated ; but as soon as out of 
sight, he, by a circuitous way, reversed his course, and 
lost no time in getting to . 

A few miles from the town, by the light of a brilliant 



62 the pastor's story. 

moon, he perceived at a considerable distance a man on 
horseback. Deeming caution the best policy, he imme- 
diately slackened his pace, with the view of passing the 
stranger in a composed and unsuspicious manner. The 
gentleman advancing chanced to be none other than our 
young friend, Thomas : impelled by a restless anxiety 
and an unaccountable foreboding that something would 
soon transpire which would lead to the discovery of 
Edith's whereabouts, he had gone forth this memorable 
night. 

The strangers were about passing in silence, but a 
mutual gaze, as inquiring as intent, caused each to halt. 
By a polite salutation, which at once inspired confidence, 
our young hero broke the silence. A few moments of 
almost whispered conversation ensued, in which Thomas 
was brought acquainted with the young man's object, and 
he at once enlisted his services. Together they sped to 
the town, and cautiously making known their wants, 
but a short time sufficed to raise a little army of well- 
equipped men, ready to spill their life's-blood in a just 
cause. 

On, on they sped until within hearing distance of the 
old castle, destined soon to be the scene both of blood- 
shed and joy. Dismounting, they secured their horses, 
and on foot cautiously proceeded to the old building. 
The " Captain" having prematurely returned, had 



the pastor's story. 63 

heard the story of the young man's departure, and, 
filled, with torturing apprehensions known only to the 
guilty, had already given orders for a speedy removal. 
The bloody conflict which ensued we would not describe ; 
enough that those in the right triumphed. 

Thomas's heart now throbbed with joy, as the thought 
occurred to him that two of the young ladies here im- 
prisoned might be the two so cruelly torn from their 
father in his own city. To one as sanguine as he, the 
hope amounted to certainty ; and he wondered that he 
had not thought of it before. He preceded rather than 
followed his brave young conductor to the apartment of 
the almost frantic girls. In the very agony of fear, lest 
he who had imperilled his life that theirs might be 
rescued had fallen in the contest, they had suffered as 
much mentally as their rescuers had physically. 

On opening the door, Thomas, almost paralyzed with 
amazement, beheld a face the dearest on earth ! He 
had never seen but one like it — he could never see 
another. Was it an apparition that he saw ? ~No ! it 
was flesh and blood ! It was his own loved Edith ! 

From a description of the scene which followed our 
pen would shrink indeed ; before it ended, however, 
Thomas had again clasped his mother's necklace round 
the neck of the astonished and happy Edith, with a vow 
never again to leave her exposed. 



64 the pastor's story. 

The morning's dawn found the heterogeneous party 
on their way home. The gratitude of the old man 
upon the restoration of his daughters was indescribable. 
And the heroic young man, so instrumental in the re- 
lease of these young ladies, sought and won the hand 
and heart of the younger sister. 

At as early a period as practicable, Edith and Thomas 
were united in the indissoluble bonds of wedlock. O, 
what a noble spirit was his ! No suspicions of the pro- 
priety of her course caused him to delay the fulfilment 
of a sacred promise ; no elucidation of mysteries was 
necessary. She loved him; had followed him across 
the briny deep ; and not until the solemn vows had 
been breathed, did he learn from his loving wife the 
full extent of her trials and troubles. How, after the 
djaths of her grandfather and father, she had resolved 
to go to England, for the purpose of learning, if pos- 
nble, the reasons for his unexpected course : both his and 
her letters had been intercepted by a bribed postmaster. 
How, accompanying some friends who were going there, 

she arrived at — ; and how, had she been gu'ded by 

the impulses of her own fond attachment, and acquainted 
him through the mail of her arrival in his city, she might 
have been spared the humiliating ordeal through which 
she had passed. How her friends, not knowing as she did 
the magnanimity of his nature, fearing he had forgotten 



the pastoe's story. 65 

his love for her, and was even then, perhaps, the husband 
of some more fortunate lady, opposed this course. How 
she, in the hope of discovering something concerning 
him, had gone forth alone when her friends thought her 
safe within her own room. How, in one of these soli- 
tary rambles, she was seized by a ruffian's hand and 
drawn into a building of good appearance ; then vio- 
lently robbed of her necklace ; and then retained in the 
closest custody until that period most loved by those 
whose deeds are evil, when she was hurried by the 
same conscienceless person to the retreat where she was 
so happily found. 

With something more than earthly interest Thomas 
regarded his beautiful young wife, as she recounted the 
troubles and sufferings which her love for him had 
occasioned. And he felt just as such a man as he could 
feel, that a life's devotion were insufficient to repay such 
heaven-born fidelity. 

In reviewing the history of his life, he read in char- 
acters too legible to be mistaken, the handwriting of 
God; and with a heart surcharged with love and thank- 
fulness, he bowed, he and his Christian wife, in one 
long, heartfelt prayer to the Great Author of so many 
blessings. 

Thomas told Edith that he was solemnly impressed 
with the conviction that it was his duty to preach the 



66 the pastor's story. 

gospel : to preach Christ and hiui crucified to a dying 
paople ; and in order to do this, so as not to bring re- 
proach upon the cause, he must pursue a theological 
course of study. This was the fondest desire of her 
soul, and she did all she could to facilitate this great 
and responsible undertaking. 

Three years after entering one of the best theological 
institutions in Europe, Thomas was an ordained min- 
ister of the gospel. The field he chose for his labors 
was the home of his youth. The church he supplied 
with a pastor was the neat little granite edifice, almost 

imbedded in fragrant shrubbery, about miles from 

Charleston. 



THE FOUR SCENES. 

SCENE I. 

The spot is low and grassy ; 

Two lovers there are sitting; 
The pines are softly whispering, 

And happy moments flitting 
Unheeded by. 

SCENE II. 

A mansion is surrounded 

By orange trees and flowers ; 

Pomegranate, fig and peach trees, 
Beyond the summer bowers, 
Together mingle. 

Bananas, cocoas, grapes are 
Beyond the lemons growing, 

The almond, lilac, jasmine, 

Around their perfume throwing, 
And sweeten all. 

(67) 



68 THE FOUR SCENES. 

And in the distance pine trees 
Are to the breezes sighing, 

And corn and cotton growing; 
And birds are singing, trying 
To tell their love. 

Two forms are seen among the 
Pomegranates, figs and flowers, 

And hand in hand they enter 
The flower-covered bowers, 
And smile in joy. 

Now voices soft are murmuring, 
And eyes with love are glowing, 

With smiles are faces radiant 
"Within the bowers, showing 
True happiness. 

A gate is shutting; softly 
The sound of cattle lowing 

Comes o'er the fields ; and chickens 
Are scratching, cackling, crowing, 
Around the yard. 

The plowman's voice sounds mournfully ; 
Far off a colt is neighing; 



THE FOUR SCENES. 69 

A huntsman's dog is barking; 
And little children playing 
Among the flowers. 

SCENE III. 

The pines are mournfully sighin . 

Around two graves; and flower 
Above two heads are growing: 

They left the summer bowers 
Long, long ago. 

SCENE IV. 

Two loving hearts are basking 

In sempiternal glory ; 
Their golden harps are tuning 

To the heavenly story 
Of "God is love." 

The war of life is over, 

And separations ended; 
Their life is just .beginning, 

And now their love is blended 
Eternally. 



LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Affectionately addressed to a young lady on the receipt of a beauti- 
ful souvenir— a, rich purse, wrought by her hands, and presented to 
the writer. 

Thanks for the beauteous gift, sweet girl, thy tasteful 

skill hath twined, 
And brilliant though its meshes be as brightly there 

enshrined, — 
Through future years will memories dwell of these 

our happy hours, 
As the fled summer's glory lives in one rich wreath 

of flowers. 

And as thy love-lit years glide on, be each glad hour 
enwreathed 

Into a tissue sparkling bright as this thy hand hath 
weaved : 

Like to that dial florists frame,* still may the laugh- 
ing hours 

Be marked by thee but by the bloom of joy's fresh 
opening flowers. 



♦Linnaeus formed a dial of flowers, whose successive openings and 
closings marked the hours. 



<?0) 



AN ACROSTIC* 

'Mid all the ills, the sorrows, care and strife, 
And dangers thick unseen by mortal eye, 
Rejoicing in the budding joys of life, 
Youth passes, as a cloud flits through the sky, 
And age finds many unprepared to die. 
How happy those who in their early days 
Give God their hearts — to His protection fly — 
And spend their lives in wisdom's pleasant ways, 
Yield up their breath with joy, and dwell with Him 
on high. 

*To a cousin whose name was precisely the same tyl the author. 



(71; 



THE KOBIN. 

I heaed a soft and sweet-toned note, 

Which rose and swelled from distant tree 

A robin from his magic throat, 

There perched and sang his song for me. 

The cold winds came, and where went he ? 

Away where summer winds did rove ; 
Where buds were fresh, and ev'ry tree 

Was vocal with the notes of love. 

Now green shrubs edge our forest walks, 
And blushing are our sweet-wood flowers; 

Snowballs hang on their slender stalks, 
Kissed by dew in softest showers. 

Come are Spring's bright sunny bowers, 
Come Spring's encircling, tender vines ; 

And Winter, with his dismal hours, 
On Kenesaw no longer pines. 

(73) 



THE EOBIN. 73 

Then come, O come, to this mild sky, 
So fresh the blooms that scent the air; 

The vernal winds are passing by, 

And scatt'ring buds and leaves so fair. 

Yes, come again, my own dear bird, 

To this warm clime; haste — speed thy flight! 
Kiss with the sun the evening's cheek, 

And stay with me the long, long night. 

"Warble that wild wood note again, 
And I will read and list the while ; 

Its tones will soon my soul enchain, 
And all my pensive hours beguile. 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. j 

' "Full many a gem r f purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

Gray's Elegy. 

As an introduction to a few thoughts, I have stolen 
the diamond from, a string of pearls, strung by one 
whose heart, "onca pregnant with celestial fire," felt as 
few men have ever felt; and who from one of the 
highest summits of that Pisgah which overlooks the fair 
Canaan of poesy, plucked flowerets from Heaven's 
festoons, and received inspiration from etherealized 
spirits, which enabled him to "wield the elements/ 7 
and to sound the depths of the human heart, raising 
and stilling its passions at his bidding. 

We are not informed that when God created the 
world, he did not decorate every portion of it alike 
beautiful ; but we are authorized by his word to believe, 
that if any spot received his peculiar consideration, 
that was the Garden of Eden. 

There luxuriated in rich variety all the beauties 

(74) 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 75 

of nature, which ha ve- elicited the admiration and en- 
gaged the attention of all succeeding ages. There the 
rose, acknowledged queen of flowers, and the lily, fit 
emblem of maiden purity, grew spontaneous. There the 
lowly violet and the humble little forget-me-not com- 
manded the same attention as did the proud, majestic 
magnolia, loftily waving its expansive foliage in the 
pure atmosphere of heaven. But when we turn from 
that consecrated enclosure — that favored spot of Divine 
love — all is conjecture and supposition. 

Whether the Creator of the universe distributed alike 
over the surface of the earth these beautiful manifesta- 
tions of his generosity, or whether it was reserved for 
man, after his dispersion, and " the fowls of the air" on 
their migratory tours, to transplant them in other climes, 
has often been a subject of speculation. 

The happiest conclusion is, that when God said, "Let 
the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the 
fruit-tree yielding fruit" no section of the world was 
more propitiously regarded than another. Doubtless, 
the most sequestered nooks and the most obscure places 
were then beautified and embellished by the prettiest of 
flowers ; and who will think that those flowers were 

"Born to blush unseen, 
And waste their sweetness on the desert air"? 

Have not the angels eyes ? And did not they look 



76 FULL MANY A FLOWEE. 

down from their happy homes in heaven, and unite in 
anthems of praise for what the Great Dispensor of all 
good had done for them ? * 

Did not the golden stars and the silvery moon lend 
rays of effulgence to their variegated petals; and the 
sun reflect their rainbow tints ? 

God was glorified where the foot of man had never 
trod ! 

Go now, who will, to the rich conservatories of the 
opulent, where affluence and science conspire to change 
even the order of nature : where, by congregating exotics 
the very antipodes of each other, are produced ; pluck 
from their offerings the most choice flower, carry it to the 
gay saloons of pleasure, and bid the votaries of fashion 
go into ecstacies over its beauty and fragrance ! Yes, 
bid them ! For it sends no voluntary thrill of delight 
to the heart — arouses no dormant emotion of love and 
gratitude ! 

Hand in hand with Flora, I will hie to the moun- 
tain's brow, or to the valley's bosom, and cull a bouquet 
of the sweetest blossoms, unchanged by the hand of 
culture, and take them to the bedside of the sick, or the 
room of the oppressed! Mark that smile — sweet 
though melancholy ! And that tear-drop ! Whence 
does it flow ? From a heart whose fondest recollections 
cluster around the past ; and whose hopes for the future 
nestle at the foot of Calvary ! 



FULL MARY A FLOWEK. 77 

That little offering of friendship, that simple nosegay 
of the wild wood, lias awakened thoughts of childhood's 
days ; parents and friends long incarcerated in the house 
of silence are resuscitated by their magic influence, and 
are gently hovering round, tenderly discharging the 
offices of friendship and love. Attachments of more 
mature years are revived, and exist again in all the 
fervency of affectionate regard ! The heart, disap- 
pointed in its earthly calculations, turns to heaven, that 
mighty emporium of happiness, where parents and 
children are reunited, and friends found in whom there 
is no decay nor shadow of change ! Have those sweet 
wildwood flowers wasted their sweetness on the desert 
air? 

Methinks I see a courageous adventurer wending his 
way through a narrow defile of the Rocky Mountains. 
He endeavors to banish all thoughts of home, lest per- 
chance it should restrain his enterprising footsteps ! 
With forced cheerfulness he whistles a merry air, which 
fell upon his ear in the joyous parterre, or in the hilari- 
ous hall of the voluptuous and gay. He avoids such 
as Home, Sweet Home: it may be that he fears their, 
plaintive melody will shake the determination to pursue 
his journey. 

Look ! what a change ! That self-defying man is 
ashy pale ! even on his cheek the tear-drop glistens ! 



78 FULL MANY A FLOWER. 

Ah ! his eyes, in constant search of the beautiful, have 
fallen on an humble little flower, the same in appear- 
ance that she, the object of his early love, the plighted 
partner of his earthly destiny, had given him as em- 
blematical of her devotion and fidelity. All the 
tender though slumbering emotions of man's mighty 
heart are aroused and operated upon. He is again 
locked in the fond embrace of affectionate regard ; 
wife and children cluster about, and, vine-like, twine 
their arms around him, the oak of that little grove ! 

Will he refuse to shelter them from the scorching 
rays of summer, or from the chilling winds of winter ? 
"Will he neglect propping those frail twigs, dependent 
in a measure upon him for the impress the tree shall 
bear ? He has done so ! A spirit of adventure, an 
ambition for worldly renown, has induced him to con- 
sign that precious little group to the care of those com- 
paratively disinterested ; and to relinquish all the fond 
endearments of wife, home, and friends ! Hence he 
weeps on seeing that mountain flower — that memento 
of happier times ! Mas that flower wasted its sweetness 
upon the desert air ? 

I will now ascend from Flora's kingdom to that which 
embraces man, and endeavor to exhibit the beautiful 
,**nalogy. 

So much depends upon mental culture in the develop- 



FULL MANY A FLOWEB. 79 

ment of moral and intellectual flowers, that no pains or 
expense should be spared to promote its general diffusion. 
Lamentable indeed is the reflection that in many a " ne- 
g lected spot " exist all the 

" Elements to sway an empire 
Or wake to ecstasy the living lyre." 

c * But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

Rich with the spoils of Time, has ne'er unrolled; 
Penury represses their noble rage. 
And freezes the genial current of the soul." 

There are flowers, however, belonging to this king- 
dom not indigenous to any clime, nor entirely de- 
pendent on culture for development. These are the 
flowers of the heart — an amiable and gentle disposi- 
tion, a kind and forgiving spirit. 

Such offerings are infinitely more acceptable to God 
than the dazzling treasures of Golconda's mines, or the 
intellectual oblations from the hill of science. Humble 
though they be, no spot, however obscure, can conceal 
such excellence. A mother on whose brow " the traces 
of sorrow may be found," or a father whose " footsteps 
are now feeble and slow," may feel their heavenly 
influence, and thank their merciful Father for such 
angel gifts. 

He who, though gifted with all that renders life at- 
tractive — parents who watched with tender solicitude 
over the period of helpless infancy, and whose affection 



80 FULL MANY A FLOWEK, 

diminisheth not in later years ; brothers and sisters who 
shared alike each joy and each woe, and around the 
same knee learned to lisp, "Our Father, who art in 
heaven/' — impressed by the powerful obligation he is 
under to " work the' work of Him that sent him, while 
it is day, for the night cometh, wherein no man can 
work/' and leaves the valued associations of childhood, 
youth, and early manhood, and devotes himself phy- 
sically and mentally to leading out of Egyptian dark- 
ness the poor benighted heathen, seems to bury his 
talents — seems to waste his sweetness upon the desert air. 
But when his head shall have received a crown of 
righteousness, brightened by the acclamations of praise, 
which shall redound to his Saviour's glory, from heathens 
saved through his instrumentality from eternal woe, 
it will be discovered that his talents were wisely em- 
ployed. 

Such flowers emit a fragrance inhaled by angels, and 
will be transplanted in heaven, there to bloom in their 
native element, through all eternity. 



TO MAEY. 

In love, dear girl, thy friend now twines 
A garland for thy youthful brow — 

A texture of the golden lines, 

Of hope and joy that glad thee now. 

Though gilded now by rays of hope, 
Fraught with changes thy life may be 

To shade thy radiant horoscope, 

Dark clouds may linger near to thee. 

Deceitful ones thy path may throng, 

While Spring doth last and flowers bloom; 

But soon as Winter's winds arise, 
Sycophants shun the coming gloom. 

Then from the crowd, my friend, select, 

To be companions chosen here, 
Those pure and true — of God elect — 

To virtue and religion dear. 

* (81) 



82 TO MAEY. 

Like Christians aft' their terrene close, 
Still living on, though 'bove our view 

Thy Saviour's love no changing knows- 
Though ills betide, 'tis ever true. 

Then treasure well his sacred Word ; 

'Twill faith unto thy spirit give, 
And waft it up to joy unheard, 

Prepared with Christ for e'er to live. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 
YOUNG LADY. 

No more shall I behold her, 
No more these arms enfold her: 
To a land of deepest shade 

She is gone. 

Like the flower nipped by frost, 
Ere its early bloom was lost, 
So died the lovely maid 

"Who is gone. 

O, do not weep or mourn, 

Or desire her return; 

To the mansions of the blest 

She is gone 

From envy and from strife, 
From all the ills of life, 
Where the weary are at rest, 

She is gone. 

(83) 



84 AN ELEGY. 

There, free from, toil and pain, 
She for ever will remain ; 
Her sorrows are all o'er; 

She is gone 

. To that bright throng in heaven, 
The host of the forgiven ; 
Then let us grieve no more, 

She is gone. 



TO ADA. 

You ask that I record something in this book, de- 
voted to friendship and affection to thee. But what 
shall it be? What my theme? Shall I speak of 
Heaven ? Yes. 

How superior, then, is Heaven to Earth. If we are 
ever able, my dear young friend, amidst God's gracious 
dealings with us to catch by the eye of faith but an 
obscuring glimpse of its delightful prospects, its en- 
trancing visions, its ineffable pleasures, and its noble 
employments, how does earth, with its passing vanities, 
sink in our estimation ! How sensibly do we feel that 
to depart and be with Christ is far better ! Far better 
to leave our possession and enjoyments here, however 
extensive and dear, mixed as they are, even in their 
best state, with sickness, sorrow, and sin ; to enter the 
pearly gates of the Heavenly City ; to walk its golden 
streets ; to have our seats within its spacious mansions, 
there provided ; to mingle with the blest society there 
gathered from every age and from all parts of God's 

(85) 



86 TO ADA. 

wide dominions ; to be forever free from sin and 
wretchedness ; to bask forever in the full sunshine of 
perfect holiness and unchanging love ; and be forever 
like Christ, and with Him, seeing Him as He is, and 
knowing Him as we are known. All this is indeed " far 
better." But it is a faint outline only of what Heaven 
is and will be, "for eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
neither have entered into the heart of man the things 
which God hath prepared for them that love Him." 

" Jerusalem, my happy home, 
Name ever dear to me ! 
"When shall my labors have an end, 
In joy, and peace, and thee?" 



HAPPINESS. 

Happiness ! thou glittering thing, 

That which we all desire ; 
Thou art for ever on the wing, 

And if pursued, retire ! 
How many mortals toil through life, 
'Mid scenes of danger, care and strife, 

And in the end do find 
That all their work has been in vain — 
They sought what none on earth obtain, 

A perfect peace of mind. 

Then stop, vain man, and follow not 

This ignis fatuus bright, 
But be contented with your lot ; 

Trust not its flattering light. 
It still will fly when you pursue, 
And keep receding from your view — 

'Tis but a fruitless chase ; 
And when your race of life is run, 
This rainbow, glistening in the sun, 

Is in another place. 



(87) 



FOKGET THEE. 

Forget thee ! no, thy image dear 
Is with the chords of life entwining ; 

Thy noble form is ever near, 

And like a light before me shining. 

Whether in slumber or awake, 
In solitude, or converse sweet, 

My constant thoughts of thee partake, 
And whisper we again shall meet. 

To me thou art a beacon bright, 

My pathway o'er rough seas to guide; 

To me thou art a star of night, 
Ear brighter than all else beside. 

Altho' remote as distant pole, 

That star relumes my darkened way ; 

And cheers my sad, desponding soul, 
With light of more than heav'nly ray. 

(88) 



FOKGET THEE. 89 

Forget thee ! no, I try in vain 
To banish every thought of thee s 

When this lorn heart is closed to pain, 
Thou'lt be my sweetest memory. 



LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE. 

As fades the bud without decay, 
Plucked off by ruthless hand, 

So passed thy lovely charms aw 
To holier, happier land. 

No racking pain, sweet one, by day, 

Left on thy brow its trace, 
Nor night of anguish stol'd away 

The bloom from thy fair face. 

Thy coral lip lost not its hue, 

Thy eye its winsome light ; 
Thy bosom ne'er by earth's cold dew 

Had felt a chilling blight. 

O, lovely Minnie ! pretty dove, 

Dropt for an hour below 
To fill our hearts with joy and love, 

And charm away our woe. 

(90) 



LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE. 91 

Too soon thy little song was sung; 

Too soon thy smile has fled ; 
Too soon, alas ! thy lute unstrung ; 

Too soon thy icy head. 

Thy death- bed was a scene of joy 

To thee, sweet one ! alone, 
For thou did'st change earth's gross alloy 

For praise 'neath God's high throne. 

We laid thee in the cold, dark grave, 
With prayers, and sighs, and tears; 

But oh ! we know that thou wilt have 
Holier, happier spheres. 

And tho' our hearts may bleed and break, 

We would not have thee here ; 
We'll " pray the Lord our souls to take/' 

And meet in that bright sphere. 



THE SABBATH. 

"And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: necause 
that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and 
made." — Gen. ii. 3. 

Hail, holy day ! sweet day of rest, 

Both blessed and sanctified; 
In which the poor and the oppressed 

Are free and satisfied ! 

The poor, who toil from day to day 

Beneath a burning sun, 
"With gratitude and joy will say, 

Our six days' work is done. 

They see the Sabbath day appear, 
To Heaven their prayers arise; 
They hope to end their labor here, 
And rest above the skies. 



THE UNFORTUNATE. 

She never said she loved him, 

But I saw it in her eye, 
The blush that mantled her fair cheek 

Whenever lie was nigh ; 
The sigh that heaved her tender breast, 

When, rising to depart, 
He kissed away the falling tear, 

And pressed her to his heart. 

I knew that he was wealthy, 

She poor, but virtuous too ; 
I thought to spoil her loveliness 

Was all he had in view ; 
That like some sweet but fragile flower. 

Torn from its parent tree, 
She'd please his fancy for an hour, 

And then forgotten be. 

I told her not to trust him, 
He'd ruin her fair fame; 

(93) 



94 THE UNFORTUNATE. 

Bob her of innocence and life, 
All but a guilty name ; 

But she believed his promises — 
With a seducer fled, 

And now, deserted by the wretch, 
She toils for her child's bread. 



TEMPEKANCE ADDKESS. 

After my respects and compliments to the ladies 
of S and vicinity, allow me to apologize for assum- 
ing my present position : a position which commands 
the inestimable opportunity of tendering to this Division 
of the Sons of Temperance a small manifestation of 
admiration and esteem ; a privilege to which you, and 
you only, are legitimately entitled, and of which, I 
doubt not, you would ultimately have availed yourself. 
Knowing, however, the kind and forgiving nature of 
woman, I feel a confident assurance of pardon. 

Worthy Patriarch and gentlemen of the Order of the 
Sons of Temperance, the laudable design in contempla- 
tion is the only consideration which could have induced 
me thus to transcend the conventional barriers of femi- 
nine delicacy, and to occupy a position so conspicuous. 

Should I prove, as I apprehend, unable to advance 
anything deserving your attention, I shall not attempt 
to supply the deficiency by rhetorical garlands, which 
please only the superficial, and are^ though sometimes 

(95) 



96 TEMPERANCE ADDEESS. 

indulged, repudiated by the more intelligent and dis- 
criminating. 

As a representative of the female sex, I appear before 
you to mingle the voice of condemnation against the 
deleterious draught you have wisely renounced ; and to 
express heartfelt gratitude to a philanthropic fraternity, 
destined to revolutionize the moral world ; to dilapidate 
the strongholds of Satan ; to dethrone the most aban- 
doned sovereign that ever swayed sceptre ; to create an 
earthly paradise where thorns and thistles were wont to 
luxuriate. 

When the benign constellation of Temperance had 
become almost extinct in the moral galaxy ; when the 
whole world, as it were, was writhing under the wither- 
ing influence and diabolical tyranny of King Alcohol ; 
when the feeble voice of remonstrance and expostulation 
had well-nigh yielded to the desponding groans of 
despair ; when solicitude, deep and heartfelt, had almost 
exhausted her ingenuity, and the dove of hope had 
plumed her wing the last time in pursuit of the olive 
branch, then, then it was that a little though determined 
band of brothers, with hearts ignited by philanthropic 
zeal, unfurled the banner of Temperance, proclaiming 
in the thunder's voice rebellion against this hydra- 
headed monster — this sworn friend of Pluto. Nor 
has the banner been unfurled in vain : every breeze that 



TEMPEEANCE ADDEESS. 97 

passes by wafts tidings of victory. High on the hill- 
top, or low in the vale, wherever its bright folds are 
seen, there, too, is a moral reformation visible. 

The pernicious — pernicious is a word too feeble to 
convey the idea — the damning effects of intoxicating 
liquors are too obvious to require delineation, too re- 
volting for refined contemplation. The concentrated 
art of sin and wickedness could not manufacture a 
beverage more demoralizing in its effects, more destruc- 
tive in its operations. 

Man, high-hoping man, created in the image of a 
Divine Maker ; superior to all animated nature ; en- 
dowed with the capabilities of a god ; an aspirant for 
heaven, and communion with Christ his intercessor, 
while under its influence is the most corrupt, the most 
terrible. Yet, strangely deluded, strangely infatuated, 
in opposition to his better judgment, in defiance of 
God's awful denunciations against the drunkard, he 
deliberately and unequivocally administers the suicidal 
dose which poisons his mind; unfits him for the enjoy- 
ment of the refined pleasures of existence ; introduces 
contention and discord where' love and harmony were 
wont to dwell; desecrates the sacred privileges of 
every Divine ordinance ; in a word, robs him of the 
man, and constitutes him a brute, a byword, and a re- 
proach ; finally consigning him to a premature grave, 
5 



98 TEMPERANCE ADDKESS, 

there to wait the death-knell of his soul : " Depart 
from me, ye cursed. Ye knew your duty, but ye did it 
not. v 

Ages of unutterable woe shall have passed, and the 
agonizing shrieks of the lost are reverberating through 
the fiery vaults of hell : " Tell me, ye companions of 
iniquity, how long shall I endure this torture?" 
Eternity ! eternity ! " Tell me, thou spirit of my 
sainted mother ; thou whose prayers, fervent and 
anxious, I disregarded, whose counsels I rejected, how 
long, O how long shall I suffer this dreadful punish- 
ment? always consuming hut never consumed, always 
dying but never to die !" Eternity I eternity I eternity ! 

Millions of years shall again have inflicted their 
allotted portion of misery, and the wailings of despair 
and supplication are yet reverberating : " Tell me, O 
God ! whose love I spurned, whose wrath I wilfully 
enkindled, is there no mercy in heaven? All, alll ask 
is annihilation." " Ye knew your duty, but ye did it 
not ! " is the response of Him who has promulgated to 
the world, " The wages of sin is eternal death 1 " 

Gentlemen, this is no fancy sketch, conceived by an 
enthusiastic imagination, and delivered in the delirium 
of excitement. Would to heaveu it were ! If there is 
a single individual present over whom a fate so awful 
is impending, let me- beseech him to pause and reflect; 



TEMPEKANCE ADDKESS. 99 

to dash far from him the fatal cup, instrumental in pro- 
ducing such consummate wretchedness, such endless 
punishment. 

" Will he whose soul is lighted 
With wisdom, from, on high 
To spirits so benighted 
The lamp of life deny ? " 

Freedom ! O, how sweet the sound ! Without it 
life were a cheerless boon, a dreary waste ! Give me 
liberty or give me death, is the sentiment of every en- 
lightened mind — of every mind bearing the impress 
of its Divine origin. 

Whenever the national flag is unfurled to the breeze, 
every patriotic bosom thrills with courage and valor ! 
No hesitation to investigate causes — enough for man to 
know that his country has been invaded, his privileges 
as a freeman exposed to danger. With heart nerved 
for battle, ready to be immolated upon the shrine of 
liberty, he is ambitious to be foremost in the contest, 
and never shouts more triumphantly than when elevat- 
ing the standard of victory ! 

If such is man's courage when his temporal rights 
are assailed, what should be the extent of his courage 
when the eternal interest of his. immortal soul is in- 
volved ? Surely it should employ the most vigilant 
exertions, the most unrelenting opposition ! What 
should be the extent of his zeal when the banner of 



100 TEMPEKANCE ADDRESS. 

Temperance, the ensign of moral greatness, is hoisted ? 
It should acknowledge no restraint within the limits of 
reason ! 

"Were I a man, I, for one at least, would rally around 
it, defending it with my latest breath ! Yes, I would 
unite with this wise little army, which already has ac- 
complished much, and is destined to achieve a greater 
victory than an Alexander or a Napoleon ! 

Is there no Csesar present who will take the lead in 
this glorious warfare ? The Rubicon being crossed, the 
battle is won. A little moral courage, and the victory 
is gained. 

Let the feeble voice of woman inspire that courage . 
In no way can you conduce more to human happiness, 
or more enhance your own ; in no way more assuredly 
procure for yourselves an approving conscience, or more 
effectually secure the approbation of the ladies ; in no 
way sooner establish peace on earth and good will 
towards men, or contribute more to the cause of Chris- 
tianity. 

In conclusion, allow me, gentlemen, to present to you 
this banner. Take it — guard it well ! During its 
execution a thousand . emotions have revolved in my 
mind. Hope and fear have alternately prevailed! 
Hope that, in after years, I might have the happy 
gratification of learning that its pure folds and bright 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 101 

colors have been shielded from the assaults of the enemy. 
Fear, lest one of your little number, recreant to duty, 
recreant to honor, should, by a violation of his sacred 
trust, reflect dishonor upon it, and upon the Division to 
which it is given. But, as a summer cloud before the 
noonday sun, every uncharitable foreboding has van- 
ished, leaving no vestige of fear behind. 

An organization having Love, Purity, and Fidelity 
for its foundation, is obliged to stand. The rain may 
descend, the floods come, and the winds blow and beat 
upon it, but it will not fall ; for it is founded upon a 
rock. Yea, it is destined to survive the wreck of the 
universe, and be perpetuated in heaven, where all will 
be immaculate members of the Sons of Temperance 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

My childhood's home ! My childhood's home 
Of thee with rapture I will sing; 

For thy dear joy to me doth come, 
As brightest sunshine Spring can bring. 

My childhood's home, and mother dear, 
Together linked by strongest tie 

In this fond heart till death is near 
To waft my soul beyond the sky. 

My childhood's home ! and father brave ! 

Blessings sure, by Heaven's decree, 
To lead my thoughts beyond the grave, 

To things Divine — O God, to thee ! 

My childhood's home ! and sisters too, 
Are golden links of that bright chain, 

In mercy formed for me to view; 
Then draw my soul to Him again. 

(102) 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 103 

My childhood's home, and brother's love ! 

Their tendrils, round my heart entwined, 
Are growing still — will live above, 

With saints and angels e'er enshrined. 



TALLASSEE FALLS. 

Tallassee ! humble, obscure Taliassee ! 

Thy modest grandeur hath aroused dormant 

Fancy; and the bright beams celestial, 

Which from thy crested bosom dart, wake once 

More the slumbering flame of wild poetic 

Fire, which, in the days of hopeful ardor, 

Inspired my happy heart ! 

Yet hard ! O, hard the task to tell thy wonders ! 

Language, rich and copious, the tongue rebukes, 

And bids it silence keep, nor vainly prove 

Its impotence ! Imagination filled 

With amazement, in vain 

Essays to grasp thy warring sublimities! 

Though I may feebly tell the sweet and sacred 

Thoughts which crowd my brain, as on the rock I 

Stand, and gaze upon thy fearful chasm ! 

Thoughts which the love-toned harp of Zion woke, 

Thy discord calleth forth again 

(104) 



TALLASSEE FALLS 105 

I gaze 
Upon thy turbid waters, as they rush 
From rock to rock, in angry mood, till, vast 
And vehement, thy warring torrent, like 
A "lake long pent up amid the mountains/' 
Leaps forth in the gulf below; and as I 
Gaze, I think upon the awful flood of wrath 
Due to the sins of vile, apostate man, 
"Which gushed upon the meek and lowly 
One, and wrung the bitter cry : " My God ! 
My God ! 0, why dost Thou forsake me !" 
I behold the mysterious bow of heaven, 
And read a language in its silent spell! 
Tellest thou, bright arch, of that beauteous bow 
Of peace and love which spanned Mount Calvary 
"When Jesus died ! The eye of Faith 
Turns from scenes of earth, and sees, O, love 
Divine ! the wondrous words inscribed by God's 
Own hand upon that bow, Peace, peace on earth 
Since Christ the Saviour died ! 
I stand upon the rock! here am I safe. 
Thus may I ever stand on him, the JRoch 
Of everlasting ages! 

Secure from harm, 
As on the rock I contemplate that mighty 
Cataract of wrath which on my Saviour 
5 * 



106 TALLASSEE FALLS. 

Poured to rescue me — to rescue all — thus 
May I gaze upon the bow of mercy ! 
Read its bright lines, and wonder and adore; 
Thus sweetly may the fountains of my soul 
Be broken up ! and tears, luxurious tears 
Of joy and gratitude for ever flow. 



THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 

In past ages the study of the ancient languages was 
confined almost exclusively to the clergy, and a few 
learned men. The idea of introducing it into female 
schools and seminaries of learning would have startled 
the world, and been regarded as some extravagant chi- 
mera of a madman's brain. 

"We are told that Lady Jane Grey and Queen 
Elizabeth were well versed in some of the dead lan- 
guages. The latter spoke fluently both Latin and 
Greek ! But these royal females were far more favored 
than others of their sex, and equalled by few of the 
opposite — were far in advance of their age. 

Even in classic Scotland, the nursery of science, the 
study of the Greek language was not introduced until 
about the sixteenth century ; and then it met with much 
opposition. 

The great Scottish Eeformer, John Knox, did not 
become acquainted with the Hebrew until at the age of 
fifty. He studied it while an exile in Geneva. 

(107) 



108 THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 

In our country much indisposition lias been shown to 
the study of the ancient languages. But a brighter day 
seems dawning upon the literary world. The ponderous 
tomes of classic authors are no longer confined to the 
library of the theologian and the linguist ; but may be 
seen in the hands of every schoolboy, yea, and school- 
girl too. 

A great many words in our language, especially the 
compound ones, are of Latin and Greek origin ; and it 
is impossible to comprehend them thoroughly unless 
acquainted with the languages from which they are de- 
rived. Far be it from us to repudiate the use of the 
good old Saxon words; for many of them, simple 
though they be, are hallowed by association with the 
dear objects that they denote. But words which give 
dignity and grandeur to the English language are de- 
rived chiefly from the Latin and Greek. 

By reading translations, some knowledge of the 
works of classic writers may be acquired; but the best 
translation is to the original as the lifeless picture to the 
living form. The principal features may be faithfully 
preserved, but the warmth, the vivacity of the original 
are wanting. 

The scholar who is familiar with the pages of classic 
literature has many rich feasts, which one unacquainted 
with the ancient languages can never enjoy. He can 



THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 109 

accompany a Caesar through his triumphant career of 
conquest ; listen to the sublime orations of a Cicero ; 
and be entranced by the sweet pastorals or more heroic 
measures of a Virgil. He thus becomes acquainted 
with the laws, customs, and peculiar doctrines of the 
great nations of antiquity, and is prepared to trace their 
influence on all succeeding ages. Some knowledge of 
these languages is essential to any of the learned pro- 
fessions. 

The lawyer has much use for the Latin tongue, be- 
cause the rudiments of law were early written in that 
language ; and its technical terms are yet in Latin. 
The Koman tables constitute the basis of our legal sys- 
tem ; and to one unacquainted with the language of 
Rome, legal lore is unmeaning. To the disciple of Es- 
culapius, the Greek is indispensable, since medical 
science was derived from that people. Its forms of 
expression, its technicalities, are Greek. 

But especially is it necessary that the theologian 
should be well acquainted with the languages in which 
the Sacred Scriptures were originally written. He 
who is not may be a man of much piety, but never 
can he enter so deeply into the meaning of the Divine 
text, as he to whom the Hebrew and Greek are familiar. 

He who wars against the study of the classical lan- 
guages of antiquity, is chargeable with recklessness and 



110 THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 

folly as great as lie who would demolish the foundation 
of the temple and expect the superstructure to stand 
firmly erect. Extinguish the knowledge of these, and 
the principal languages of the world would degenerate 
into uncouth jargon. 

The English, the French, the Spanish, the Italian, 
owe their polish and beauty to their origin — the oro 
rotundo of Eoman literature. 

Should it ever unfortunately happen that the study 
of those languages should fall into disuse — should be 
banished from the halls of learning, and the writings of 
Livy, Cicero, Horace, Virgil, and Caesar, and all the 
host of classic authors, be repudiated, then will our lan- 
guage become a medley of scraps and terms collected 
from all other tongues. The ancient classics serve to 
keep the fountain pure. 



FAKEWELL TO ALABAMA.* 

Alabama, good-bye ! I love thee well ! 

But yet for awhile do I leave thee now ! 
Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell, 

And burning recollections throng my brow ! 
For I have wander'd through thy flow'ry woods ; 

Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream ; 
Have listened to Tallassee's warring floods, 

And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam. 

And now we part; the car is running fast, 

Her pathway decked by wreaths of curling smoke : 
The Herculean power that guides her mast 

Will soon bear me to my own Some, Sweet Some. 
Home ! Home ! that tender word let me retrace — 

Retrace each dear and hallow'd spot at home ! 
Each cherish'd wish, and ev'ry well-known face, 

To banish thoughts of those from whom I roam. 

* Written in imitation of Tyrone Power's "Farewell to America." 
(ill) 



112 FAKEWELL TO ALABAMA. 

Yet shame I not to bear an o'er-full heart, 

Nor blush to turn behind my tearful eyes ; 
? Tis from no stranger land I now must part, 

'Tis to no strangers left I yield these sighs. 
"Welcome and home were mine within this State, 

Whose vales I leave — whose spires fade fast from 
me; 
And cold must be mine eyes, and heart, and tete, 

When, dear Alabama ! they turn cold on thee ! 



SAD HEART. 

My heart has been sad to-night, 

Very sad and very lone ; 
But sweet visions pure and bright 

Now come flitting one by one. 
And I feel my spirit lifted 

By their ministrations grand, 
To communion with the gifted, 

Far off in radiant land. 



There is rapture in the scene, 

Joy and bliss too sweet to tell ; 
Forms of more than earthly mien, 

Far too bright on earth to dwell; 
Suns of more than earthly beam 

Rise before my spirit's gaze, 
Sending forth the brightest gleam 

That checkers memory's page. 

(113) 



114 SAD HEAKT. 

My enraptured happy soul, 

Free as the proud eagle's wing, 

Free from physical control, 

Soars to worlds where angels sing — - 

To worlds where there is no noise, 
Nor contention, nor vain strife, 
t celestial peace and joys 
Keign throughout an endless life. 

ow much beyond expression 

Is the beauty of the scene, 
Laid out in love before me, 

Clad in tints of living green. 
And as I gaze at each star, 

It a glorious beacon seems, 
To guide mariners afar 

Where a world in glory beams, 

Whose suns and skies are e'er clear, 

Undimmed by sorrow's dark gloom ; 
And the gently rolling year 

Ne'er puts off its youthful bloom; 
Where looks of brightness ne'er know, 

Through time's lapse, one saddening shade, 
Nor the forced smile strive to throw 

Over fond hopes in ruin laid. 



SAD HEART. 115 

Nor age comes with blighting touch 

Scat'ring symbols of decay, 
But forms of beauty are such 

Through eternity's noonday ; 
Where grim death can never wring 

The heart's dear and tender ties, 
For in constant love they cling 

To heaven's immortalities. 

And friends love without the thought 
That calls forth the bitter tear, 

That a few years may leave naught, 
To our hearts most bound, and dear. 

"O blissful thought! O rapturous hour! 
When friends and kindred all shall meet ; 

When broken circles reunite 
And walk a bright celestial street!" 

But hark, my soul ! dost forget 

The gay visions pure and bright, 
That but now around thee met, 

With rich feasts of sweet delight? 
Ye are welcome, dear lov'd guests, 

Though ye come in mystic form; 
I will list to your behests, 

And they with joy I'll perform. <i 



116 SAD HEAKT. 

What your mission? what your will 

That ye come in darkest night? 
If some dew-drop to distil, 

Shed it ere the sun give light; 
If some kind monition brought, 

Speak at once and I will list ; 
If with sorrow ye are fraught, 

I can bear that too, I wist. 

Yes, a dew-drop we do bring, 

And a kind monition too; 
"Angels now are on the wing," 

Singing sweetest songs to you : 
By their loving hands be led 

Through the strait and narrow way 
When the grave enwraps thy head, 

Live in bliss through endless day. 



I WENT TO THE PLACE. 

I went to the place of my birth and said: "The friends of my 
youth: where are they?" And echo answered: " Where are they? 1 ' 

I went to the place of my birth, and said : 

The friends of my childhood, where are they fled ? 

And echo replied,. in a death-like tone, 

There remaineth not one — all, all are gone ! 

Like the dewdrop that glittered on the spray, 
Or the morning mist, they vanished away : 
Some went to the east, and some to the west, 
And some in the house of silence rest. 

The cot where my father and mother dwelt, 
Even that the general doom had felt : 
It was gone ; and also the old oak tree, 
Beneath which I played in infancy. 

There nothing remained of the days gone by, 
"To claim a tear or to merit a sigh," 
But the eternal hills and mountains high, 
And the ever-enduring calm blue sky. 

(117) 



118 I WENT TO THE PLACE. 

And thus, I exclaimed, it happens to all — 
Our friends like the leaves of autumn fall; 
They noiselessly go, and are seen no more 
On life's eventful and changing shore. 

But hope lifts my heart to that world above : 
O there may I meet each friend that I love J 
There never again from them shall I sever, 
But Oj, blessed thought, dwell with them for ever ! 



THE POWEE OF TRIFLES. 

"Springing from the faintest causes, 
Grand results have often shown 
That there is a power in trifles." 

A faint rustle is heard amid the sere leaves of 
autumn : a tiny acorn has fallen to the ground. Weeks, 
months elapse, and at the very spot where lay the acorn, 
a slender stem, surrounded by a few delicate leaves, 
appears in its stead. The rain, the gentle dew, and the 
sunshine, each in its turn contributes to its growth and 
development. In a few years the fragile plant, which 
an infant's foot might have crushed, has become a 
sturdy oak, the hundred-armed Briareus of the forest, 
whose roots the storms of winter but serve to fix more 
deeply, in whose branches the birds of the air build 
their nests, and beneath whose wide-spreading umbrage 
both man and beast find shelter and repose. 

Down deep in old ocean's bed, myriads of insects so 
small as to be scarcely perceptible, are rearing monu- 
ments of themselves which bid defiance to the roaring 
winds and the raging waves. Many a green island of 

(119) 



120 THE POWER OF TEIFLES. 

the sea, where grow the feathery cocoa and the graceful 
palm, and upon whose shores the dusky son of the tropics 
erects his home, is the production of these tiny though 
industrious insects. 

In that portion of the United States bordering on the 
Rocky Mountains, is a little limpid lake, from which 
flows a small stream only a few inches deep. Merrily 
it dances on its way : now mirroring the wild flowers 
blushing by its side ; now furnishing a cooling draught 
for the agile deer bounding over its native woods ; and 
now refreshing the weary traveller as he drinks of its 
crystal waters. A thousand other brooks unite with it, 
and it becomes a mighty river : on its broad bosom 
majestic steamers are borne ; on its fertile banks proud 
cities are erected. Proceeding onward, it is constantly 
receiving tributaries, until finally, having traversed 
thousands of miles, it mingles its now turbid waters 
with the Atlantic's blue waves. 

As the forest oak was once a bitter acorn; as the 
island of the sea was the work of the coral insect ; as 
this great Father of Waters — this mighty Mississippi 
— had its source in a diminutive mountain lake, so in 
the moral as well as the material world, grand results 
have often sprung from the faintest causes. 

Almost all the great discoveries which have preemi- 
nently distinguished the late centuries, have been the 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 121 

result not so much, of profound research as of accident. 
For instance, the simple circumstance which led to the 
great discovery of the law of gravitation. 

A hundred years later, in an humble cottage in Scot- 
land, a little boy sat by his mother's kitchen fire. In 
an attitude of the deepest attention he gazed at the tea- 
kettle singing on the hearth. What did he see in the 
misty wreaths of steam which ever and anon escaped 
from the spout, or slowly lifted the lid of the kettle ? 
The expansive, the propelling power of steam ! And 
the grand idea enters his mind of applying this power- 
ful agent to machinery. Little did his mother dream, 
when she chided her son for what she considered a 
foolish habit, that he was making a discovery for which 
he would not only receive a proud title, but the untiring 
thanks of a grateful world ; for the improvement in the 
steam-engine, which this discovery enabled Watt to 
make, has saved an amount of labor no mathematician 
can estimate. 

The history of our own country affords many happy 
illustrations of the power of trifles. Behold Columbus, 
with a small fleet, and without a chart, sailing over seas 
hitherto unexplored. Even the magnetic needle, his 
only guide over the pathless ocean, ceased to point to 
the polar star. Terrified by this phenomenon, the sailors 
refuse to go farther, until he, with the presence of 



122 THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 

mind for which he is so remarkable, promises if in 
three days land does not appear he will return. Soon 
signs of land are visible : with renewed hope they pro- 
ceed ; and the discovery of a New World is the result. 
Had the self-possession of this renowned adventurer 
forsaken him but for a moment ; had the time appointed 
for retracing their course been but a few hours shorter, 
America might yet have been a trackless wilderness. 

More than a century after this important discovery, 
a solitary ship is on the deep. "With its precious freight 
of one hundred and one souls, it pursues its perilous 
way over the wintry waves. The winds howl through 
the rigging ; the billows rage around ; but within that 
little vessel all is calm. Those Pilgrims have put their 
trust in God, and amid the storm they sing his praise. 
At last, weak and weary, they land on the rock-bound 
coast of New England, " without shelter, without means? 
and in the midst of hostile tribes." Were it possible 
to interrogate any one unacquainted with the subse- 
quent history of the Pilgrim Fathers, as to the result 
of their enterprise, he would answer : " They must per- 
ish ; they cannot survive the privations and dangers to 
which they are exposed." But every citizen of our 
nation knows that this little band of Christian brothers, 
forced by persecution to flee their native land, were the 
first to establish a permanent colony in the Western 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 123 

Hemisphere; the first to establish the glorious privi- 
leges of civil and religious liberty. 

The causes which led to the American revolution 
were in themselves insignificant ; but the result ! — the 
formation of a republic for which the wo'rld's annals 
furnish no parallel. 

Our chief institutions of learning exemplify the prin- 
ciple of " great effects from little causes." As proof, 
we need only turn to the history of Yale College and 
Nassau Hall. 

Even " genius loves to nestle in strange places," and 
confer its meeds of honor in the most obscure pathways. 
The very humblest households have frequently been 
the nurseries of the most gifted minds. " We see Gal- 
ileo soliciting the loan of a few shillings with which to 
purchase the materials for constructing his telescope," 
an instrument which has brought thousands of stars, 
never before seen, within the sphere of mortal vision ; 
thus throwing a flood of noonday effulgence on the sub- 
lime science of Astronomy. 

Embarrassed by poverty, and surrounded by a gloom 
never varied by 

"The sweet approach of even or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
Or human face divine," 

Milton wrote an epic poem never equalled. 



124 THE POWEE OF TEIFLES. 

Beethoven, whose name is inseparably connected with 
all that is sublime in harmony, was in extremely limited 
circumstances. Like most great geniuses, he was in 
advance of his age. The world disdained to listen to 
those exquisite strains its discordant soul could not com- 
prehend, and almost persuaded him to doubt the powers 
of his own genius. As a climax to his misfortunes, he 
became completely deaf. Never more shall he hear the 
sweet sounds dearer to him than all the world beside ; 
but their memory lives, and will vibrate through his 
soul for ever. Alone amid the solitudes of nature, he 
composed those marvellous symphonies which every- 
where thrill with unutterable emotion the heart-strings 
of the gifted, the refined, the noble in soul. 

" Men of the guinea stamp are much more the coin- 
age of heaven than of earth. And happy indeed for 
mankind if the truth were universally recognized that 
the mind, the heart, the soul, and not high birth and 
great fortune, are the standard of man. The thing that 
ennobles is virtue and virtuous endeavor, either for oar- 
selves or others ; and the thing that degrades is not the 
lowly condition or the humble and unambitious toil, 
but indolence and vice.. And without intending to 
pander to class distinctions, yet it might operate as a 
salutary check to pride or vainglory, if the votaries of 
fashion would sometimes stop to inquire who be- 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 125 

queathed immortality to such lands as Greece and Rome, 
the Athens and the Italy of past and present times ? 
Who was Homer? Socrates? Plato? Demosthenes? 
Not patricians surely ; and yet, but for the stirrings of 
these lofty souls, the land which gave them birth would 
have been bankrupt of historic fame, centuries and cen- 
turies ago." It is with feelings of grateful triumph 
that we arrive at our own great and comparatively re- 
cent blessings, the results apparently of little causes. It 
was through the stern discipline of early struggles with 
adversity, that the great American triumvirate, Clay, 
Webster, and Calhoun, derived that strength of mind 
which enabled them to battle so successfully when a 
nation's destiny was at stake. " Examples are occur- 
ring every day, in all the departments of useful exertion, 
of men who by dint of self-help and native energy have 
sprung from obscurity into shining lights, and whose 
names, now that they are known, the world will not 
willingly let die. Who was the late John Snyder, 
of Pittsburg, the well-known cashier of a bank in 
that city, a man whose name for long years was a syno- 
nym of commercial honor, promptness, probity and zeal ? 
A wagoner. Who was the late Thomas Cor win, of 
Ohio, ex-Governor, ex-Senator, and ex-Secretary of 
the Cabinet of President Harrison ? A wagoner. And 
so we might go on to cull from our single memory alone 



126 THE POWEK OF TKIFLES. 

example upon example of men who, like the spider, have 
taken hold with their hands, but who long before their 
day was ended, or their web spun, were living in palaces 
that a king might envy." 

The very nobility of Christian literature have sprung 
from the lowest walks of life. Dr. Thomas Home, 
author of the Introduction to the Bible, was once a 
journeyman bookbinder; and Whitfield, the Demos- 
thenes of the pulpit, was once a poor boot-black in the 
University of Oxford. Indeed, almost all the great 
men who have done so much for the advancement of 
science and the amelioration of mankind, were in early 
life engaged in some manual employment. The pro- 
fessing Christian who scorns the lowly, would seem to 
forget that Jesus selected his disciples from the fisher- 
men of Galilee ; that Melancthon, the theologian of the 
Eeformation, emerged from an armorer's shop; and 
that Luther went forth from the cottage of a German 
miner. 

The publication of a book seems a trivial occurrence ; 
but who can tell the influence, either for weal or woe, 
which it may exert ? Two centuries ago, within the 
walls of a prison, was written the immortal Pilgrim's 
Progress, which now goes forth by millions to every 
quarter of the globe, leading multitudes to the Cross of 
Christ. 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 127 

And Doddridge, the author of the Rise and Progress 
of Religion in the Soul,, was of humble lineage. Thus 
we see that that book, and the like literature, which 
thousands, from the renowned William Wilberforce 
down to the present time, regard as instrumental in 
their conversion, have emanated from the domiciles of 
the poor, or from the confines of the persecuted. 

A learned writer has said : " There is nothing on 
earth so small that it may not produce great things." 

"Planets govern not the soul, nor guide the destinies of man ; 
But trities lighter than straws are levers in the building up of 
character." 

On a bright summer's day, in years gone by, there 
lay, near a grog-shop, on the outskirts of a Virginia 
city, one in manhood's prime, but apparently lost to 
manhood's pride. His senses stupefied by liquor, there 
he was, a degraded mass of animated dust, the scorch- 
ing rays of the sun beating down upon his face with 
furious intensity. A young lady, who was passing by, 
recognized in the inebriated sleeper the idol of her 
earthly affections ; him whom she had told she would 
sacrifice everything for, if he would but cease his in- 
temperate habits. With all woman's devotion and ten- 
derness, she softly spread over his face her handkerchief 
— her name written upon it. The sleeper awoke. The 
name uppermost in his sober thoughts met his eye. 



128 THE POWEK OF THIFLE& 

The truth burst upon his mind. He resolves to forsake 
such an ignominious course. The lovers meet and are 
united. The subsequent history of William Wirt shows 
that this little office of love was not lost ; yea, that it 
may even have been the means of rescuing him, who 
afterwards declined a- presidency, from a drunkard's 
grave ; and enrolled his name *upon the annals of his 
country's greatness to shine with undying lustre. 

A little word, a little act, a little thought seals our 
destiny for ever. A yes or a no shapes our fortune for 
wretchedness or bliss in all coming time. Thus, then, 
we may learn from this view of the subject not to de- 
spise little things. They possess a potency and expan- 
sion of which men little dream, amid the rush and tur- 
moil of life's career. 

If we have been denied those extraordinary talents 
which ever give their possessor such influence, we are 
apt to imagine there is nothing for us to do. But this is 
not so : 

Every one, though poor and humble, 

Has a mission to fulfil; 
Every hand, though small and feeble, 

Can work out some good or ill. 

We, then, who may mourn over the want of talents, 
the inability to accomplish great things, should take 
courage. Though we be not distinguished for brilliant 
acquirements ; though the worldly and the gay seek not 



THE POWEK OF TEIFLES. 129 

our society; though listening senates and crowded 
assemblies hang not upon the eloquence of our tongue ; 
yet we may exert an influence, unobserved save by an 
All-seeing eye — an influence gentle as the dewdrop, 
sweet as the fragrant flower — which will live when the 
vain and frivolous are forgotten, when the statesman 
and orator are stilled in death. If we have soothed one 
aching heart ; if we have spoken one word of encour- 
agement to an erring brother ; if we have given even a 
cup of cold water to one of the household of faith, we 
are not living in vain. 

Such deeds, though seemingly trifling, are precious 
in the sight of G-od ; and are recorded in his jewelled 
ledgers in characters imperishable as eternity. 



6* 



TO MAEY. 

" And what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
A shade that follows wealth aud fame, 
Then leaves the wretch to weep." 

Is friendship then a selfish thing? 
Is wealth and fame the only spring, 

From which such feelings flow? 
If so, how few on earth can claim 
That tender, that endearing name ! 

For one, I can't, I know. 

But 'tis not so — none but the vile, 
The false, the sycophants, that smile, 

To gain some purposed end, 
"Would prostitute that sacred tie, 
And, masked in base hypocrisy, 

Profess to be a friend. 

Yes, there are some whose candid hearts, 
"Would scorn dissimulation's arts ; 

Who are just what they seem. 
May such kind Heaven bestow on thee, 
For only such will constant be, 

Or merit thy esteem. 



am 



LINES TO MY SISTER 

[Written in Tuscaloosa.] 

I'm far away, lov'd one, 

'Mid sunshine and song, 
"Where birds of gay plumage, 

Their love notes prolong ; 
Where golden-hued blossoms, 

And soft zephyrs play, 
And joy sprinkles dewdrops, 

And balm in my way ; 
Where murmuring waters, 

Glide lovingly by, 
And reflect as a mirror, 

The sun-lighted sky ; 
"Where orange and myrtle, 

Together entwine, 
And dark waving cedar, 

Hears tendril and vine. 

Where the spirit of poesy 
Floats o'er the scene, 

(131) 



132 LINES TO MY SISTEE. 

Like a cloud o'er the earth, 

In its silvery sheen ; 
And sparkling fountains, 

Toss up their light spray^ 
In ceaseless merriment, 

Through night and through day. 
These spring days are passed 

'Mid Tuscans cool bowers, 
Her butterflies gay, 

And soft-tinted flowers; 
My footsteps have wandered 

Through grotto and glen, 
O'er mountain and woodland, 

Through valley and fen. 

In Castalia's groves 

I have tremblingly stood, 
And my heart beat high 

In that mystical wood : 
'Mid temples of learning 

And classical lore, 
And sweet-scented briers, 

On Warrior's green shore. 
I've gone, dearest one, 

To the temple of God, 
And knelt in devotion 



LINES TO MY SISTEE. 133 

O'er death's cold sod; 
I've list to the teachings 

Of earth, sky and air, 
While my soul soared upward 

On pinions of prayer. 

But more sweet to my heart, 

Is thy voice, my love ! 
Than aught else beneath 

The bright heavens above; 
It has power to soothe 

My worn spirit to rest, 
And point it to realms 

Of the pure and the blest ; 
" Where rivers of Jordan 

Flow o'er the bright plains, 
And the noontide of glory 

Eternally reigns." 



SING GENTLY. 

"Sing gently, sweet syren ;" my spirit is sad, 
Peace has fled from me, no longer I am glad ; 
The semblance has changed, the word has been spoken 
That blasted my hopes, while my heart it has broken. 

" Sing gently, sweet syren ; " earth's pleasure is o'er, 
My bosom shall feel its emotion no more ; 
This heart has been stricken, 'tis bleeding with pain, 
A pang it has suffered 'twill ne'er feel again. 

" Sing gently, sweet syren ; " my lot has been cast 
In a land of trouble for ever to last ; 
Hope brings no promise of approaching relief, 
In sadness and sorrow must weather my grief. 

" Sing gently, sweet syren ; " I'll list to thy lay, 
Till life's burning troubles shall flicker away; 
When on my last pillow I've suffered full long, 
My dying devotion shall cling to thy song. 



(184) 



RELIGION. 

Religion ! thou source of all joy on earth . 
Conceived in heaven, on earth given birth ! 
Beautiful, lovely, glorious, sublime, 
Thy bliss endureth to the end of time ! 
Ay, longer ! o'er time itself victorious, 
Thou art enthroned in courts above, glorious. 

Religion ! thou art a mysterious gift, 
Which the heart of man o'er earth doth uplift ! 
Thou tamest the wild savage of the wood, 
And makest him the instrument of good ! 
Thou strewest with blooms the path of the exile, 
And in fulness of joy makest him smile. 

Religion ! thou bright'nest the prisoner's cell, 

And draughts of bliss yieldest from thy pure well ! 

In the desert thou art oasis green, 

The sad heart making all tranquil, serene ! 

In humble poverty's meagre abode 

Thou smilest and speakest an hopeful word. 

(133) 



136 KELIGION. 

Religion! thou art a gerri, pretty, meet 
For the bride to wear her bridegroom to greet ! 
With thanks to God, too many to speak, 
Thou pressest a kiss on the new-born's cheek ! 
With perfect faith in Christ's power to save, 
Thou lookest in hope from the loved one's grave. 

Religion ! thou'rt felt in all walks of life, 
Now promoting peace, now subduing strife ! 
In halls of state with grace thou dost preside, 
Enacting laws throughout time to abide ! 
In the senate chamber thy silvery voice 
For the culprit pleads, making him rejoice. 

Religion speaketh with voice still and small, 
Alike in lowly cot and stately hall ! 
To the man of years giveth a new birth, 
And changeth to heaven his home on earth ! 
" Thou walkest in light shed from heaven above, 
And summerest in bliss on the hills of God." 



DON'T CRY, MY BABY. 

Lines suggested by hearing a sick mother say to her darling boy 
—an only child— just a few days before he died, "Don't cry, my 
baby." 

Does fever rack my darling boy, 
And fill his Uttle frame with pain? 

His mother knows no hour of joy 
Till he with health is blessed again. 

Don't cry,, my baby, 

O, nestle, loved one, near my heart ; 

My fond affection may to thee, 
Health-giving principles impart, 

Ev'n though of life it robbeth me. 

Don't cry, my baby. 

Father in Heaven ! God of Love ! 

If thou wilt touch him he will live ! 
O, from thy throne, in courts above, 

In mercy look — bid him survive ! 

Don't cry, my baby. 

(137) 



138 don't cry, my baby. 

Bid hiin the bitter cup refuse. 

Surcharged with chilly dews of death ! 
O'er his stricken spirit diffuse 

The healing fragrance of thy breath ! 

Don't cry, my baby. 

It cannot be, it cannot be, 

For man's first sin my child must die ! 
Must from his father and from me, 

Clasped in death's sleep for ever lie ! 
Ever lie, my baby. 

O ! I was sick, and could not save 
The dear pledge to mortals given, 

To raise their thoughts beyond the grave, 
On wings of faith to soar to heaven. 

Blame not, my baby. 

And when they told me thou wert dead, 

My senses reeled — my earthly joy, 
And fondest hopes, together fled 
, To realms above, my cherub boy ! 

To thee, my baby ! 

With mournful steps they bore my child, 
Unto his narrow bed of clay ; 



DONT CRY, MY BABY. 139 

Whilst I, in deep despair, was mild, 
And saw not where my son they lay. 
Saw not, my baby. 

Though lonely is that dwelling-place, 
Though dark and deep the chamber there 

Which from earth's view hides thy pale face, 
Sad, sorrowing ones linger near. 

Rest, rest, my baby. 

Dear child of mine ! thou liest low ; 

The pulse has left thy silent heart ! 
And thou hast gone where all must go, 

And all must be as now thou art. 

My dead, cold baby ! 

" A seal is placed upon thy tongue, 

Which mortal hand can never burst; 
A mist before thine eyes is flung, 

Which mortal might can ne'er disperse." 
My poor, blind baby. 

The grief that now my bosom rends, 
None ever but a mother knew — 

My fair and faded but now wends 
To other worlds, far from my view. 

Far, far, my baby ! 



140 DONT CKY, MY BABY. 

In brighter worlds the bud now blends 
Heaven's hues ! cerulean blue ! 

From. His high throne my King now bends, 
To list this prayer — heartfelt and true — 
This prayer, my baby. 

Pardoned, accepted, may again, 
In God's pure fold, the mother meet 

Her little lamb, by Thee now slain — 
Now taken angel bands to greet. 

My angel baby ! 

"Suffer it to come unto me; 

Composed, of such my kingdom is ; 
But in my courts 'twill meet with thee, 

Ne'er to part, as in worlds like this ! " 

We'll meet, my baby! 

Give God the glory, O my soul ! 

For love so great — love so Divine ! 
Which can the broken heart make whole, 

And cure this wounded spirit mine ! 

Give thanks, my baby ! 

Don't cry, my baby ! shout, rejoice, 
That so soon from sin thou art free ! 



don't cry, my baby. 141 

That thou canst list to Christ's sweet voice, 
Pleading to save lost ones like me ! 

Rejoice, my baby ! 

Rejoice ! the seal is off thy tongue, 

Which mortal hand could never burst; 

Rejoice ! the mist thine eyes is flung, 

Which mortal might could ne'er disperse. 
Sing praise, my baby ! 

Some angel mother enfolds thee, 

Now, beneath her spotless white wings ; 

Some angel band's sweet minstrelsy 
Thy mother's lullaby now sings. 

Sing too, my baby ! 

He who sits on the great white throne 
Will take you gently in his arms ! 

High above every trouble borne, 

Ne'er more to feel earth's rude alarms ! 
My blessed baby ! 



THE LITTLE GKAVE. ! 

There is a little grave to memory dear, 

In a vale embosom'd, a river near ; 

The flowers droop lowly that bloom o'er the sod, 

And border the path by sad ones oft trod. 

A lovely little cherub lies mouldering there : 
Its beauty and loveliness for earth too fair. 
Death, the archer, pierced it, transform'd it to clay, 
But Christ claim'd the spirit, and bore it away 
To realms full of purity, bliss, and love, 
To join the sweet choir of blest children above. 
Sing, angel sister, I am glad thou art gone 
From this world full of troubles, and hearts forlorn. 
I am glad thou hast escaped the tempter's snare; 
I am glad thou never breath'd the sinner's prayer; 
I'm glad thou'rt with Christ in thy beauty and bloom, 
Knowing naught of earth's sorrow — naught of its 

gloom. 
Thou art with our father who before thee went, 

(142) 



THE LITTLE GEAVE. 143 

And an angel, it may be, after thee sent. 
And with our grand-parents — aged saints are they — 
Basking in the light of God's eternal day ! 
Thou'rt a sparkling diamond in Jehovah's crown, 
Borne high over earth's woes — secure from its frown ; 
Thou art a star in the bright courts of Heaven, 
Shining with lustre to thee by God given. 
Thou art a rich-toned organ, whose softest peal 
Would fill the. whole earth, and its saddest heart heal. 
Thou art sister to Jesus ! to him very dear, 
The relationship made by God, w r ho is near. 
Sing on, happy spirit ! in realms of bliss sing, ; 
Shine on, bright star ! in the courts of heaven shine. 
Peal on, sweet-toned organ, angels are listening 
To the sister of Jesus — sister of mine. 



THE SABBATH. 

Sweet day of hallowed rest ! How blessed thy sacred 

hours ! 
White-robed Peace sits enthroned upon yon fleecy 

cloud, 
As when the first six days' work was done, and the 

God 
Of creation blessed the seventh day and sanctified it! 

The glorious king of light, in majesty 
Sublime, shoots forth his golden arrows, spreading 

bright 
Effulgence through the branches of the tall old 

trees, 
That, like sentinels, stand around in triumphant 
Security — twining their leaf-clad arms in close 
Embrace; and, with ray serene, descends to meanest 
Blade of grass and lowliest flower that raise 
Their heads to heaven. 

The fields are keeping Sabbath ! the reaping-hook 
Lies untouched midst Autumn's generous sheaves ! the 

black 

(144) 



THE SABBATH. 145 

Bird's gladsome note, as lie warbles his Heaven-taught 
Song, " comes soft and mellow from the dale ; " 

the gentle 
Zephyrs scarce kiss the flowery dell; "and man 

and beast 
Enjoy the season designed for rest/' 

At a time like this — 
So still, so tranquil, so Sabbath-like, the grateful 
Heart, in songs of praise and thanksgiving upward, 
Like holy incense, riseth to heaven. No earth- 
Born passion nor thought impure obscures the 

brightness 
Of the spirit's gaze : unfettered from the world's cold 
Prison bars, it sees the vastness of eternity ! 

Hark! it is the steeple's bell I hear. 
"Welcome sound ! that summons unto God's holy 
Worship ! At thy bidding the rich and poor, the high 
And low assemble ! The careworn laborer who 
Earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, and the 

proud 
"Voluptuous votary of mammon, all 
Come at thy impartial bidding I 

Now the bell has 
Ceased, and those for devotion met wait for prayer — 
Prayer which on angels' wings is borne to heaven!- 

7 



146 THE SABBATH. 

Then 
From the choir songs harmonious swell with chorus 
Sweet and joyful — voices touched by David's harp 
Of Zion, unite in the euphonious strain. 
Prayer again ensues — fervent, eloquent prayer, 
In which — for " Our Father who art in Heaven" is 
No respecter of persons — the rich and poor 
Remembrance find. 

One in the pulpit stands, of God 
Elect ! exhorting to good. He reasoneth thus : 
" Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as 

white 
As snow; though they be red like crimson, they 

shall be 
As wool." 
His soul, freed from all cares, bathes its wings in 

glories 
Unconceived ; and as his lofty intellect grasps 
The inspiration of this most sacred theme, he 
Through argument great and imagery beautiful, 
Soars to bright, celestial altars, God has made 
Himself, eternal in the heavens. Now he tells 
Of a Saviour's dying love — his high estate — his 
Shameful banishment from the throne — his agony 
And bloody sweat — his soul-felt cry of anguish great : 



THE SABBATH. 147 

JEloiy Eloij lama sabachilianif 
His ignominious death and burial ! The noonday 
Sun conceals with crapen veil its blushing face I 

Deep 
Sepulchral voices fill the air — while the cold graves 
Send forth their dead ! — pale band, to chant the songs 

of praise 
And love ! 

" 'Tis done, the mighty plan is carried out — 
The last great sacrifice for sin is o'er; 
Then from the tomb he rolls the stone away, 
And shows a risen Saviour and a God ! 
The different hearers testify his power « 

In different ways. The truth, like a sharp sword, 
Has cleaved its path. The flinty heart is crushed, 
And the great deep of sin is broken up ; 
The old transgressors tremble by the stand, 
The young in sin repent to sin no more. 
A thousand voices join in one wild prayer, 
And shrieks, and groans, and shouts of joy arise ; " 
And Heaven keeps Sabbath over the joyful scene, 
Swee& Alleluia to the King of the Sabbath day ! 



OOTHCALOGA. 

Vale of beauty ! the lone and troubled heart — 
In sweet seclusion, far remote from strife, 

Exempt from pain and folly, guile and art, 

Which throng around the busy scenes of life 

Enjoys within thy bosom that repose, 

Which in this cold world is seldom given ! 

That calm content which from retirement flows, 
And holds celestial intercourse with heaven ! 

Not here does malice plume her sable wing; 

Nor mad ambition rage without control ! 
Not here does envy hurl her venomed sting, 

Nor passions base contaminate the soul ! 

Here, in her primitive simplicity, 

Nature o'er all holds undisputed reign ; 

And banishes deceit, hypocrisy, 

And fashion's giddy, unreflecting train! 

(148) 



OOTHCALOGA. 149 

Sure I for gayer scenes will never sigh, 
Nor crave the luxuries ill understood; 

Which lull the senses, and attract the eye, 

From thy delightful paths, sweet solitude ! 

O, if to us, while on this terrene sphere, 
A foretaste of heaven's joy be given, 

Sure it is by God's own hand strewn here, 
An earnest of celestial bliss in heaven. 



HARRY MAY. 

This vale was once a pleasant place, 
And many a blissful day 

I've pass'd within its peaceful shades 
With gallant Harry May. 

But he who was its greatest charm, 

Is now gone far away ; 
O, may Jehovah's mighty arm, 

Protect brave Harry May ! 

No more I'll love the verdant spring, 
With birds on ev'ry spray ; 

Not one in all the grove can sing 
As sweet as Harry May. 

No more I'll love the pretty flowers, 
That scent the air in May; 

The sweetest one that decks the bowers, 
Will speak of Harry May, 

(130) 



HAEEY MAY. 151 

The rivulet that murmurs by, 

Near which we used to stray, 
I cannot love — 'twould make me sigh 

And think of Harry May. 



TO SARAH. 

O, MAY thy life with peace be blest ! 

The wish is ardent from my soul — 
The peace that heals the wounded breast, 

And lifts the heart o'er earth's control. 

And when beyond the grave's dark bound 
Thy vital breath divine shall wend, 

O, may thy better life be crowned 
With ev'ry joy Heaven doth blend. 



(152) 



THE BUSY-BODY. 

Did you ever see a busy-body, 

A rattling, tattling, talking thing 
In human shape, a flippant tongue of fire, 

To poison with its deadly sting? 

Did you ever note in his daily rounds, 
The scorched track he leaves behind? 

The breaking heart-strings and the bleeding wounds,- 
The workings of a little mind ? 

The lone prairie, swept by destroying fire, 
Leaves in its rear a blackened plain; 

And the tall, green grass, which in beauty bloomed, 
By the fiery element slain ? 

The beautiful spring, in " mantle of green," 
With smiling face and sun so warm, 

May in one short night be robb'd of her sheen, 
By the frost and the pelting storm. 

I (153) 



154 THE BUSY-BODY. 

As the devouring flame consumes the grass, 
And withers by its heated breath, 

So the darkened shadow of scandal's glass 
Falls heavy on the good man's death. 

As the frost in springtime nips the flower, 
It ne'er resumes its early bloom ; 

So the heart that's bent by scandal's power, 
Enshrouded is in midnight gloom. 



TO ANJST. 

O, how shall I measure the flight 
Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 

It dwells in the regions of light, 
And sweetly encircles the world ! 

Where angels in purity move, 
It lingers in ecstasy there - ; 

Drinks deep of the ocean of love, 
And weeps over woe and despair. 

It loves the sweet dew-drops that lie 
Upon the lone wilderness flowers ; 

On wings of imagining fly, 

And lingers 'neath beautiful bowers. 

O, how shall I measure the flight 
Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 

It dwells in the regions of light, 
And sweetly encircles the world ! 



(155) 



SONG. 

A song for thee, dearest, 

I send from afar, 
"Where my feet have been roaming 

Without guide or star, 
Wilt thou set it to music, 

And sing when I come, 
Disheartened and weary, 

Back to my home ? 

Let the tune be a zephyr, 

Melodious and free, 
As true unto nature 

As thou art to me ; 
Which thy heart can embrace 

As it would with a friend, 
And my words and thy music, 

In melody blend. 

Not a sad tone nor gay one, 
But a half-way between ; 

(156) 



SONG. 157 



High gladness, deep sorrow, 

Let it intervene. 
That so it interpret 

By musical art 
How we laugh when we meet, 

And shed tears when we part. 



WILLIE TO MOLLIE. 

I will not strike the harp to kings, 
But love shall tune the pensive lay; 

I'll touch with skill its tuneful strings, 
And sing of thee, sweet Mollie Ray. 

Let fortune reign in splendid pride, 
Fond of excess and rich display ; 

With sweet simplicity my guide, 
I'd live and die with Mollie Ray. 

Were I of fortune's smile possessed, 
While on me shone her brightest ray, 

A secret pang would rend my breast, 
If wanting thee, sweet Mollie Ray. 

How canst thou witness my despair, 
And bid me from thee ever stray? 

Show me a girl but half so fair, 
And I'll abandon Mollie Ray. 

(158) 



WILLIE TO MOLLIE. 159 

Such charms as thine are rarely found, 
They bloom in Winter like as May ! 

Go vainly search the earth around, 
They're only found in Mollie Ray. 

Should cold neglect, contempt, and scorn 

My ardent vows of love repay, 
These eyes her absent form would mourn, 

This heart would bleed for Mollie Ray. 

What then could soothe this burning breast 
When hope had winged her final way ? 

O, Mollie, make me ever blest ! 
And ever blest be MolUe Ray, 



A VISION. 

Dark and tempestuous was the night. Around the 
throne on high not a single star quivered ; but the deep 
intonations of heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon 
the ear ; whilst terrific lightning revelled in angry mood 
through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn 
the power exerted over its terror by the illustrious 
Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously 
came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered 
about as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the 
scene. 

At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sym- 
pathy my very spirit sighed ; but instead thereof, 

41 My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide— 
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy," came to my side. 

She moved like one of those bright beings pictured in 
the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by the romantic and 
young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her own 
transcendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed 
to make even a sound, and but for the magical thrill 

(160) 



A VISION 161 

imparted by her touch, as other unobtrusive beauties, 
she would have glided away unperceived — unsought. 
A strange sadness rested upon her features, like icy tears 
upon the robe of December, as she pointed to the con- 
tending elements without, and bade me contemplate the 
two objects presented. 

The name of my welcome visitor was Meditation. 
The objects she bade me contemplate were War and 
Peace. In the right hand of Peace was a branch of 
olive, in the left a dewy cluster of the richest balm that 
ever grew in Gilead. 

She seemed a seraph sent to teach us how to be ; 
So gentle, so patient, so retiring was she. 

And yet, within her modest bosom lay stern determin- 
ation for her rights to contend. No sophistry her heart 
could contaminate, or her judgment mislead. 

List ! methinks I hear her voice : 

" The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, 
before his works of old. 

" I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, 
or ever the earth was. 

" When there were no depths, I was brought forth ; 
when there were no fountains abounding with water. 

" Before the mountains were settled, before the hills 
was I brought forth. 

" While as yet he had not made the earth, nor the 
fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the world. 



162 A VISION. 

" When he prepared the heavens, I was there ; when 
he set a compass upon the face of the depth. 

"When he established the clouds above; when he 
strengthened the fountains of the deep. 

" When he gave to the" sea his decree, that the waters 
should not pass his commandment ; when he appointed 
the foundations of the earth. 

" Then I was by him as one brought up with him ; 
and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before 
him. Rejoicing in the habitable part of his earth ; and 
my delights were with the sons of men. I promised 
them serenest bliss, but not content, God's holy behest 
they defied, entailing thereby all the miserable corrup- 
tion to which flesh is heir — dissension and war propa- 
gating throughout time. Since then my habitations 
have been vacillating and uncertain. Childhood's 
happy heart to me is a favorite resting-place ; but often, 
alas ! when human nature develops itself I am driven 
away ! In rural retirement I love to dwell. There the 
high thoughts, the ambitious hopes of mortal aspirations 
to disturb my equanimity seldom obtrude ! There the 
broad basis upon which the magnificent temple of 
earthly fame is erected, my waking meditations disturb 
not, and when sleep asserts her reign haunts not my 
dreams." 

Hark ! a sound so terrific and awful meets my ear, I 



A VISION. . 163 

fancy it comes from the lowest depths of the lowest 
deep. 'Tis the voice of War, a convulsed nation an- 
swers ! Mark well the hellish import of his words, the 
fiendish sneer pervading his countenance observe ! But 
what avails a description ? Before the world he stands 
the greatest terror, as numberless orphans, uncounted 
widows testify. With delight he surveys the bleeding 
hearts prostrate at his feet ! The manifold groans 
of the wounded and dying never drew from him a tear ! 
Hark ! I am sure I never heard more dreadful words. 

u Destruction is my mission ! Since the creation of 
the world, my guilty ambition has hurled into eternity 
no less than fourteen hundred thousand millions of 
souls ! Conquest is my life. Then why contend ? " 

The silver lute of Valor was perfectly tuned ; no dis- 
cordant note fell upon the ear, like sometimes occur in 
the studied harmony of words which man has mind to 
frame or voice to chant, as she thus responded : " So 
long as I have a votary or patriotism a friend, the ser- 
vile knee shall never be bowed of America's free sons. 
To anything illegal, unconstitutional, or unjust, never, 
never shall they submit ! " 

Shall Valor's appeal in vain be made ? Ah, no ! 
Methinks I see the vigorous men of the North, the 
brave cavaliers of the South, with armor well girded 
on, marching forth in battle array against the foe who 



164 a vision. 

our rights would dare assail. Methinks I see an aged 
man, whose locks are white as snow, whose feeble form 
is supported by a well-worn staff, raise his head, and, 
listening, hold his breath to hear the well-known notes 
of martial music ! Notes which sent a thrill to his 
youthful bosom, cause him now to forget the infirmities 
of age ! With enthusiasm he casts away his staff, and 
once more shoulders his musket in his country's de- 
fence ! Methinks T see an aged mother, whose trem- 
bling frame is bending over the grave, clasp her darling 
boy to her bosom, and bid him the patriotic number go 
swell, and " Come back in triumph, or come not again." 
She tells him the pearl of mighty price, for which his 
forefathers "fought, bled, and died," should be by him 
preserved — should be by him enlarged, else indeed a 
useless steward prove himself. She tells him to show 
the world that in an American soldier there is some- 
thing — in the cause he espouses something — in the 
name he bears something — in the country he defends 
something — which equals him for more than any com- 
mon danger; and that, whether right or wrong, our 
country's privileges shall be defended, and that " he 
who conquers shall find a stubborn foe." 



FLOWEKS. 

To a Sick Stranger. 

Spring- flowers, bright flowers, I send to thee, 

O ! take them in their bloom ; 
Too soon these flowers will withered be — 

Like all they'll find their tomb. 

O ! may their tomb be thine own heart ; 

Their memory cherished be ; 
And though as strangers now we part, 

! take these flowers from me. 

Yes, take them with my earnest prayer : 

Although on earth we sever, 
O ! may we meet in Heaven, where 

Sweet flowers bloom for ever. 



(165) 



SONG. 

Am.— "Those Evening Bells." 

The village bell I the village bell ! 

On loving heart its music fell 

In other days and happier time, 

" When first I heard its soothing chime." 

Whilst now I list to thy dear sound, 
My heart doth leap with joyous bound ! 
It tells of home, and mother dear, 
Her silvery voice and tones so clear ! 

In childhood's hour, I list its call — - 
Relinquished hoop, and bat, and ball ; 
With willing steps repaired to school ; 
My teacher loved, obeyed his rule. 

And as it called each Sabbath day, 

I happy was to wend my way 

God's praise to hear, by one whose tongue, 

With sacred truths divinely rung. 

(166) 



song. 167 

But sadder strains — I know them well — 
My heart doth sicken while I tell — 
Of one whose beauty passed away 
In gay springtime and morn's first ray. 

? Tis ever so with earthly sounds, 
The sweetest strain with woe abounds : 
There is a world of peace and love ! 
No discord's there in heaven above ! 



TO MABIA. 

Thy form is like a ray of light, 

That brightly gleams, 
Shedding upon the clouds of night, 

Its clearest beams. 

For of thy worth the noblest part 

Is all unseen; 
Thou hast an angel's soul and heart, 

I humbly ween. . 

The thoughts that thy high soul doth know, 

Are all humane; 
From purest fount they ever flow ; 

There's naught profane. 

I strive to emulate thy worth, 

'Tis all in vain; 
Thy soul has had immortal birth, 

? Tis God's again. 

(168) 



TO MARIA. 169 

The glory of the King of kings, 

Already's thine: 
O may like joy on angel's wings, 

Be borne to mine ! 

Then my wrapt soul, in vision bright, 

Will Jesus see; 
Will share the bliss with pure delight 

Now known to thee. 

Sorrows of earth will then have fled, 

Or lost their sting; 
And when I'm numbered with the dead 

To Christ I'll cling. 

O wilt thou, loved one, in thy prayers, 

Remember me ? 
Remember me to Him who bears 

The Cross for thee! 



A LEAFLET FKOM LIFE'S BOOK. 

One of the heart's dearest treasures is she — the 
gentle, loving help-meet of our pastor ! Never, while 
memory derives pleasure from communing with the 
loved images stored away in its garners, or grasps at 
the sunbeams reflected upon its walls, or while earthly 
sounds cause the heart-strings of the soul to vibrate 
with soothing melodies, can we forget how she looked, 
sitting, as was her wont during the long summer after- 
noons, in the vine-sheltered portico of the old parsonage^ 
or the tender, heartfelt cadence of her voice as she time 
and again gave us affectionate welcome to that conse- 
crated abode. How quiet, how peaceful everything 
appeared there ! On each side of the pretty sand.- 
covered walk, extending from the gate to the house, 
were flower-beds carefully tended by the pastor's favorite 
daughter. Here, in early spring, bloomed the daffodil, 
the hyacinth, and the beautiful monthly rose; and when 
autumn robed the woods in scarlet splendor, the hardy 
chrysanthemum unfolded its varied-colored blooms — 
fit emblem of a constant friend, who appears most lovely 

(170) 



A LEAFLET FROM LIFE S BOOK. 171 

when all others forsake. But let us not linger so long 
without, even among flower-beds, when loving heart and 
tender voice are waiting to welcome us within. Ah ! 
yes, upon the threshold stands "a mother in Israel/' 
the pastor's wife. How cordially she shakes our hand, 
and what a motherly kiss she bestows upon us ; and 
how kindly, too, she inquires about each member of our 
mother's household ! A child of affliction herself, she 
ever sympathizes with the sick and the sorrowing ; and 
many a burdened heart has been lightened by the con- 
solation which she knew so well how to administer — 
consolation drawn from God's own word, and the mer- 
ciful dealings of His providence. She was faithful in 
all the relations of life, but her devotion to her husband 
was, in our eyes, one of the most charming features of 
her character. Though a few scattered white locks 
alone remained of the dark-brown masses which once 
shaded his noble brow, she loved him not a whit the 
less : her affection for the husband of her youth, the 
chosen companion of her earthly pilgrimage, steadily 
increasing as years passed by. 

An instance of her self-sacrificing devotion we will 
record : One bright afternoon she was sitting as de- 
scribed in the commencement of this sketch, in the vins- 
sheltered portico. She was alone, and yet not alone, for 
fancy was busy ; and well might we guess, if an arch 



172 A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 

smile and speaking countenance betray the workings of 
the mind, that it was planning a pleasant surprise for 
the loved and absent. Yes, this precious woman had 
received, as a May-day present from her mother, a 
generous supply of money, and she was thinking how 
she would make each one of her family, especially her 
husband, the recipient of its benefits. Just as she had 
well-nigh matured a very satisfactory plan, footsteps which 
she never mistook, approached. With a face beaming with 
love, she rises to meet him. What a change has come over 
her countenance —a troubled expression, despite her efforts 
to conceal it, has usurped the place of the joyous one ! 
One glance at the face she had long since learned to read 
as a book, convinced her that all was not right with her 
husband — that something was weighing heavily upon 
his mind, or that some cherished object could not be 
accomplished, and her heart, true to the nature of 
woman's, felt the pang more acutely perhaps than his. 
Feeling that it was her right to share his troubles, she 
met him, and gently laying her hand upon his arm, 
inquired what the source of trouble was. Handing her 
a letter received by the afternoon's mail, he took a seat 
without uttering a word ; the emotions which heaved 
his full heart were too overpowering to allow conver- 
sation. After reading it slowly and carefully, the 
wife raised her eyes from the letter to the face of her 



A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 173 

husband, with a most puzzled expression. In it she 
saw nothing to occasion trouble, but, on the contrary, 
much to inspire the deepest gratitude — the highest joy. 

At the earnest solicitation of many members, our 
pastor had sought and obtained the consent of his 
church to occasionally supply with gospel food a flock 
of a distant fold, deprived by death of its aged shep- 
herd. And the letter was from several of this fold who 
urged him, in behalf of a goodly number who had at- 
tended with deep interest upon his ministry, and had 
been confirmed thereby in the determination " to testify 
to the world the goodness and love of Christ, by putting 
him on in the ordinance of baptism," to come and 
" plant them in the likeness of the Saviour's death." 

But alas ! our pastor was a poor man, and had not 
the means with which to defray the expenses of the 
trip; and his own people had been remiss in the dis- 
charge of their obligation to pay a promised salary. 
Hence his trouble on the present occasion. He, how- 
ever, who had been with him in six troubles, was ready 
to carry him through the seventh. In this instance, as 
in innumerable others, his angel-wife was the instru- 
ment in the Lord's hands to relieve his burdened heart, 
and point him to One who has promised that " every 
one that asketh receiveth." When he had told her the 
want of means to go would prevent his enjoying this 



174 A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 

Christ-like privilege, her countenance again grew 
radiant with joy and gratitude, as she exclaimed with 
child-like enthusiasm, " You can go ! you can go ! " 
Then, and not till then, did our pastor know of that 
aged mother's May-day present to a daughter who 
counted it no sacrifice to relinquish her own cherished 
plans to promote the cause of her blessed Eedeemer. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTUKY.* 

From the fifth to the fifteenth century the sable pall 
of ignorance and superstition spread over the whole of 
Europe. Learning was almost extinguished ; the pure 
doctrines of the Cross were adulterated, and men 
bowed in blind superstition to images of wood and 
stone. In 1587 the Reformation began, which has 
well been styled t*he most important event that 
has taken place since the first promulgation of Chris- 
tianity. Simultaneously with the revival of religion 
was the revival of learning ; and the march of improve- 
ment has been steadily progressing until it has reached 
a high point in this the nineteenth century. Let us 
contemplate some of the leading features of the age; 
and though but little more than three decades of this 
period have elapsed, we safely assert, that never have 
the arts and sciences advanced so rapidly ; never has 
knowledge been so widely diffused; never have such 
important revolutions agitated the world ; and never 

* Written in 1860. 
175) 



176 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

have the glorious truths of the Christian religion been 
so extensively disseminated as in the nineteenth century. 

During this eventful period, the long list of earth's 
battle-fields has been extended by the addition of the 
sanguinary conflicts of Leipsic, "Waterloo, New Orleans, 
the Crimea, and Lucknow. The military exploits of 
this age surpass in many respects those of any preceding 
period. A conqueror such as Bonaparte the world never 
saw. The contests which he waged against the allied 
powers of Europe are the most wonderful on record, in 
the extent and rapidity of his conquests, and their in- 
fluence upon the nations of the world. He stands 
forth upon the pages of history as the most remarkable 
potentate of modern times : elevated, at the early age 
of twenty-seven, from the rank of a common soldier 
to the chief command of the French army * at thirty, 
elected First Consul; and at thirty-five, proclaimed 
Emperor of France. 

A striking contrast to the ambitious Napoleon, is the 
hero of Lucknow — the brave, the pious Havelock. 
Instead of laying waste unoffending cities, he came to 
the relief of the distressed and helpless ; and though he 
stood high as a military commander, he was not ashamed 
of the gospel of Christ, but preached its unsearchable 
riches to the soldiers of his regiment, and baptized 
them with his own hands. But he sleeps in victory ! 



TIIE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 177 

His battles are over ; and he is now where the scorch- 
ing rays of the Indian sun, and the fierce combats of 
opposing forces, can never come. 

The present century is distinguished by great politi- 
cal revolutions which have thrown into commotion the 
nations of the earth. When the year 1800 dawned upon 
France, she was a republic; in 1804, she became an 
empire; in 1815, after Bonaparte was deposed, Louis 
the Eighteenth was restored to the throne of his ances- 
tors ; and now another Napoleon reigns, under the title 
of Emperor of the French. How many bloody battles 
were fought to produce these changes in the govern- 
ment of France ! and what an illustration are they of 
the mutability of human institutions ! In 1806, by the 
resignation of the reigning emperor, the empire of Ger- 
many came to an end ; and in 1832, Poland was erased 
froin. the list of kingdoms by its incorporation with 
Russia. 

What changes have been wrought in our own land ! 
In 1801 the United States extended only to the Missis- 
sippi river on the west., and to Florida on the south. 
In 1803 Louisiana was ceded to the Union by France, 
for §15,000,000. Florida was also ceded by Spain in 
1820. Thus has the United States acquired a right to 
these valuable possessions, which cost their first owners 
so much death and suffering. In 1539 the romantic 



178 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

De Soto and his followers wandered over the sunny 
plains of the land of flowers, in search of El Dorado. 
After marching over half the continent, they met not 
the realization of their golden dreams . Worn out with 
fatigue and disappointment, De Soto sickened and died, 
and his remains lie undisturbed beneath the turbid 
waters of that mighty river of which he was the dis- 
coverer. Spain, once a wealthy and powerful kingdom, 
now occupies a low rank among the nations of Europe, 
and the United States quietly enjoys the immense pos- 
sessions she once claimed. In 1848 California was ob- 
tained by treaty from Mexico ; and now the " star-span- 
gled banner " unfolds its bright colors from the Atlantic 
to the Pacific. England has forced China to open her 
ports, so long closed to the civilized world ; and by the 
negotiations of an American commodore, communications 
have been established between Japan and the United 
States. 

As before stated, the present century is remarkable 
for advances made in the arts and sciences. Steam, as 
applied to machinery, has wrought wonders. The first 
railroad, resembling those now r in use, was the " Stock- 
ton and Darlington Railway," completed in 1825. But 
the first practical exhibition of the powers of a steam 
locomotive engine was made at the opening of the 
" Liverpool and Manchester Railroad " on the 15th of 



THE NINETEENTH CENTUKY. 179 

September, 1830. In 1856 upwards of one hundred 
and fifty separate lines of railway, the total length being 
8115 miles, had been completed in the United Kingdom 
of Great Britain. The increase of railroads in the 
United States is unparalleled. In 1828 there were only 
three miles of railroad ; now there are 25,000.* The 
advantages accruing from railroads in the rapid trans- 
portation of goods and passengers from one section of 
country to another, and in the increased diffusion of 
knowledge, may be considered the greatest benefits of 
the age. In 1807 the first steamboat was launched 
upon the Hudson. But little more than fifty years 
have gone by, and beautiful steamers are proudly 
gliding over all our principal rivers, along our coasts, 
and upon the broad bosoms of the great lakes of British 
America. 

The Pilgrim Fathers were three months performing 
th( ir perilous voyage across the Atlantic : their descend- 
ants sail over the same spac3 in little more than ten 
days : a striking example of the progress of our age. 
Vojages by steam are performed along the Mediter- 
ranean, and along the Arabian and Red Seas. Indeed, 
" almost every sea and ocean on the surface of the globe 
is traversed by steam-vessels — promoting a rapid inter- 
course between all the nations, tribes, and families of 

* There are now, 183, 70.0C0 miles of railroad. 



180 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

the earth." By steam navigation commerce is extended, 
knowledge is increased, civilization is advanced, and the 
heathen world enlightened by intercourse with Chris- 
tian nations, preparing the way for the missionaries of 
the Cross, and the consequent conversion of the Gentile 
world. 

We come now to the greatest discovery of the nine- 
teenth century, the electric telegraph. When we look 
upon a steam-engine rapidly advancing with its long 
train of cars, and hurrying on its freight of many tons ; 
when we stand by the river's edge, or on the shore of 
the mighty deep, and behold some gallant steamer 
steadily and swiftly pursuing its way, in opposition to 
wind and tide, we feel that man, though fallen, is noble 
still, possessing an intellect capable of devising and 
executing great things; but when we contemplate the 
electric telegraph, we can scarcely persuade ourselves 
that it is the result of human research and human skill. 
To use the language of another: " The principle, or 
agent, which displays its terrific energy in the awful 
volcano, the fearful hurricane, and the destroying earth- 
quake, is the same as, subdued by science and human 
art, is rendered useful to society in a vast variety of 
ways, and in no way more prominently than in the 
electric telegraph." By this agency the principal towns 
of the United States are closely connected. Friends 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 181 

thousands of miles apart converse as if in the same hall. 
How many heart-cheering messages have thus been 
borne upon the lightning's wing ! and in the late re- 
vival it has been made the speedy messenger of the glad 
tidings of God's converting grace. Submarine wires 
encased in gutta percha connect Europe with the British 
Isles; and the cable of the telegraph between Europe 
and America is now laid upon the bed of the ocean ; 
and the time is doubtless near when all the grand divi- 
sions of the globe shall by this means be brought in 
converse. But to the philanthropist and the Christian 
the improvement in the art of printing by the applica- 
tion of steam-power, stands preeminent. As an illus- 
tration of the rapidity with which printing is done by 
this method, a machine of this kind throws off from 
nine hundred to twelve hundred sheets in an hour. 
Books once so costly that only the most wealthy could 
afford their purchase, are now within the reach of every 
one. Newspapers, magazines, and periodicals of every 
description are daily issuing from the press, containing 
much valuable information, and, alas ! much which is 
deleterious to the minds and souls of men. The power 
wielded by the press is second to none on earth ; and it 
is a lamentable fact that this, the nineteenth century, is 
so prolific of that species of literature entitled novels, 
infusing into the minds of countless multitudes, espe- 



182 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 

cially of the rising generation, false notions of life, and 
erroneous views on the great subject of religion. For- 
tunately, however, for society, this is not the only litera- 
ture published and read in this age. Many excellent 
works on history, philosophy, and theology, have been 
written, and hailed with enthusiasm by' the literary 
world. What a -vast amount of good has been accom- 
plished by those noble institutions, the British and 
Foreign Bible Society, the American Tract Society, and 
the American Bible Society, all of which have been 
established since the dawn of the present century. 

There are many other discoveries and inventions of 
the present age, which have done much for the ameli- 
oration of the human race. Many a poor miner has had 
reason to thank God that Sir Humphrey Davy was ever 
led to construct the safety-lamp, which has been the 
means of preserving many useful lives. Lighting the 
streets of large cities with gas has been more effectual 
in suppressing vice and crime than any police. Securing 
a life-like shadow by the. daguerrean art, has afforded 
more satisfaction to all classes of persons than any pre- 
ceding discovery. 

Within this century many interesting discoveries 
have been made in the science of astronomy. On 
the first of January, 1801, Ceres, the first of the 
asteroids, was discovered. Since, then many of these 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 183 

miniature planets have been seen, which are supposed to 
be the fragments of a large celestial body, which once 
revolved where the asteriods are now seen. This re- 
markable discovery has given us a slight insight into 
those great changes which are taking place in the remote 
regions of space, and fills the mind with admiration for 
that Almighty Being who formed the starry worlds, — 
" that bringeth forth their hosts by number ; that calleth 
them all by names." The discovery of the planet 
Leverrier, or Neptune, by calculation, is a signal 
triumph of the human mind. By means of the great 
telescope of Lord Rosse, many of the nebulse, once 
supposed to be chaotic masses of luminous matter, have 
been resolved into stars, giving us enlarged conceptions 
of the boundless extent of the universe. 

The nineteenth century is distinguished by its long 
array of illustrious sculptors, musicians, artists, authors, 
statesmen, and theologians. Among sculptors none 
stand higher than Powers, whose "Eve," and whose 
" Greek Slave," have been the admiration of both sides 
of the Atlantic. From the earliest ages of the world 
the sons of men have loved and cultivated music; but 
we are persuaded that it has now arrived, at a degree of 
perfection never before attained. The exquisite mechan- 
ism of musical instruments, especially that of the piano- 
forte, is one of the improvements of the age. And 



184 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

where, in the annals of the world, have we an account 
of such vocal powers as those of Jenny Lincl ? or of 
sweeter strains than those of Thalberg and William 
Vincent Wallace? 

What shall be said of the authors of the nineteenth 
century? In British literature we find the names of 
Sir Walter Scott, Byron, Moore, Pollok, Eliza Cook, 
Mrs. Hemans, Macaulay, Professor Wilson, and Hugh 
Miller. Among American authors are conspicuous 
Bryant, Longfellow, Bancroft, Mrs. Sigourney, and 
many others whose writings have exercised a powerful 
influence on the age, corresponding in its nature to the 
characters of their respective works. Besides the 
authors mentioned, there are travellers who have 
rendered their names immortal by contributions they 
have made to our knowledge of the distant regions of 
the globe. Such are Dr. Kane, who wrote an account 
of his search for the long-lost Sir John Franklin in the 
frozen regions of the frigid zone ; and Dr. Livingstone, 
who has spent sixteen years amid the burning sands of 
Africa. The Eastern Continent has not been without 
men who have swayed the councils of nations by the 
wisdom of their measures and the witchery of their 
eloquence ; but in our own free land are we to look for 
the noblest statesmen of the nineteenth century. At its 
commencement Washington had just rested from his 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 185 

labors; but his associates, Jefferson, Madison, and 
Hamilton, held a prominent position before the nation. 
In later date come J. Q. Adams, Andrew Jackson, 
Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and Daniel Webster. 
But to the disciples of the Prince of Peace, neither the 
warrior nor the statesman appears so glorious as those 
men of giant intellect and holy heart who have during 
the present century boldly stood forth before the world 
and contended for "the faith once delivered to the 
saints." Of such are Chalmers and Cumming, of Scot- 
land ; Miller and Alexander, of America ; and Spur- 
geon, the modern Whitefield of the English pulpit. 
And there is another whom it would be wrong to pass 
in silence, Harbaugh, the author of that beautiful series 
of works whose subject is Heaven. Who that has read 
these books can ever divest himself of their mild but 
powerful influence — an influence leading his thoughts 
to that happy world of which they speak in such sooth- 
ins: and beautiful strains. 

With regret we now introduce another phase of this 
century, which forms a painful contrast to those by 
which it is preceded. Notwithstanding the wide 
diffusion of religious knowledge, there are some who, 
having closed their eyes to the truth, have embraced 
and propagated the most dangerous errors. As in- 
stances, the* Millerites, perched upon the highest emi- 



186 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

nences, awaiting in their white robes for the arrival 
of a specified day on which to ascend to heaven ; the 
Mormons, differing in their origin and system of belief 
from any sect that has yet appeared before the world ; 
and the Spiritualists, who have been so abundant in the 
Northern States. 

The position of woman is a remarkable feature of this 
age, being in many respects far more exalted than ever 
before ; and yet, not satisfied with her own appropriate 
sphere, she has in a few instances sought to assume 
privileges belonging exclusively to man. Such are 
Lucy Stope and her strong-minded. sisterhood, the ad- 
vocates of woman's rights. But doubtless these errors 
and follies will soon be banished by the superior force 
of truth, which is mighty and must prevail, to the 
pulling down of the strongholds of error. 

Another circumstance worthy of notice is, that no 
universal monarchy now exists as in the days when 
Assyria, Macedonia, and Rome flourished. The nations 
of the world are becoming too enlightened to allow a 
few despots to exercise unlimited sway. -Under the 
benign influence of Christianity the world is becoming 
better. Much of the cruelty of former times has been 
abolished; even war is less terrific. Benevolent associ- 
ations for the relief of suffering humanity have been 
formed all over the civilized world. Asylnms of ele- 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 187 

gant architecture, surrounded by beautifully embellished 
grounds, have been erected for the reception of the deaf, 
dumb, and blind. To these institutions the world is 
indebted for many bright intellects which otherwise 
would have reuiaiued in obscurity. Even poor little 
outcasts found in all large cities have received their 
share of attention. Houses of industry have been 
established where these little vagrants are taught much 
that is useful. Thus have many souls been "snatched 
from hell and laid in the sheltering arms of Heaven." 
Missionary efforts hav^e been crowned with signal suc- 
cess, and the Bible translated into languages spoken by 
more than half the human race. England has the honor 
of devising and carrying into operation the present sys- 
tem of foreign missions, About fifty years ago the first 
missionaries, Carey and Hall, were sent out to India, 
and soon afterwards Newell and Judson, of America, 
were appointed to the same field. A feeble band, they 
went forth to convince the heathen of the sin of idolatry, 
and turn them to the service of the living and true 
God. Many, even in this favored age, regarded foreign 
missions as a visionary scheme; but those pious ambas- 
sadors knew that they were obeying the command of 
Christ : " Go forth into all the world and preach the 
gospel to every creature;" and they bade adieu to home 
and friends, and braved the dangers of the stormy deep, 



188 THE NINETEENTH CENTTJEY. 

leaning upon the precious promise, " Lo, I am with you 
alway, even unto the end of the world." Since then 
many self-denying men have devoted themselves to the 
missionary work. Need we detail the results ? Go ask 
the converted Hindoo, the Chinaman turned from the 
worship of his idols, and the Christianized inhabitants 
of the islands of the sea, what they think of this 
glorious enterprise of the nineteenth century, and they 
will answer : By their instrumentality we have been 
brought out of darkness into the marvellous light and 
liberty of the gospel. But, if not before then, at the 
last day will all the glorious effects of missions be 
known ; when that vast multitude, redeemed out of 
every nation, kindred and tongue, shall be welcomed to 
the courts of Heaven, there to sing everlasting praises 
to the " Lamb of God," and there to meet the heralds 
of the Cross who led them to see Him as their Saviour. 
Thus have we cursorily reviewed the triumphs of this 
great age — an age in which more has already been done 
towards the civilization and renovation of the world 
than in any age since the Christian era. And yet the 
volume of its history is but half complete. Nearly 
half of its years, and, it may be, half of the mighty 
record of its achievements, is yet untold. The future, 
as it unrolls the panorama of wonderful events to the 
eye, may yet eclipse the years that have joassed — aston- 
ishing as have been their developments. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 189 

One would think that the remainder of this glorious 
century might be well employed in filling up the outline 
of its present achievements : in perfecting its inventions ; 
in extending the utility and applications of these great 
instrumentalities of good which have already been 
brought to light; in laying off, adorning, and beautify- 
ing the magnificent field which the march of mind has 
compassed; and that the historian and author might 
find ample employment in the materials of the half 
century already elapsed. 

But who shall presume to set bounds or limits to the 
mighty march of this century — to that progress which 
impels civilization onward, as the comet is hurled in its 
infinite journey around the firmament? Who shall say 
that the inventive resources of genius are exhausted — 
that the future has no reserve, no depths of profounder 
wisdom yet to be fathomed — no fields yet wider and 
wider to be explored — no more wonderful plans to be 
worked out by that Divinity which is so manifestly 
developing the destiny of man ? Who shall say that 
science, with all its boasted attainments, may not yet be 
in the primer of its learning — when future years shall 
have poured upon the world the meridian splendors 
which are yet to appear ? She has gathered beautiful 
pebbles on the beach, but the dark, unfathomed caves 
of ocean have not yet emptied at her feet the gems 



190 THE NINETEENTH CENTTJKY. 

which are richly treasured there. The morning has 
come, the sun of knowledge has risen on the horizon, 
but it has not yet performed its course ; it has but begun 
the revolution of glorious light which it is destined to 
make, and before which all clouds and vapors shall be 
dispelled. " Knowledge shall increase," is the fiat which 
has gone forth, and none but God who issued that decree 
shall set limits to that increase. Its fountain is no less 
than the mind of Deity. It draws its illumination 
from the great central sun of that omniscient intellect 
which is the light of the everlasting universe. Who 
shall say that the full measure of its revelation to man, 
through the medium of nature, has yet been seen, or 
that He will not evolve from the vast treasury of his 
wisdom and his goodness a increasing degree of 
knowledge, until ignorance shall be torn as a covering 
from the hideous vice and depravity of man — until 
light shall drive from the world the dark legionary of 
superstition, ignorance, and hell. The philosopher and 
divine cannot fail to perceive that religion and know- 
ledge go hand in hand — that God has chosen light, in 
the moral world, as the instrument to dispel the dark- 
ness of error and evil, as, in the physical world, to chase 
away the gloom of night. Will he not, then, impel 
onward the intellectual march of the world, until 
knowledge all over the earth shall pave the pathway for 
' * chariot- wheels of religion and millennial glory? 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 191 

How much of so great a destiny is reserved for this 
century must be left to the unborn historian to write. 
We can only indulge in the bright anticipations which 
the past and the present inspire. Judging from these, 
that future volume of the history of this century will 
reveal to its readers other great triumphs of genius, 
other inventions, and other evidences of the wisdom and 
goodness of that Supreme Being who has so si^n^lly 
favored this proud age. 



TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 

Why is it that the midnight moon, 

No moment stays? 
And why the sweetest bloom so soon 

Droops and decays? 

Why is it that the noonday sun, 

So soon descends ? 
And why the honor nobly won 

So quickly ends ? 

Why sends the west its brightest ray, 

As sinks the sun? 
Why sings the swan its sweetest lay, 

When life is run? 

Why is the rainbow's gorgeous hue, 

Begirt with clouds ; 
And when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too 

The earth enshrouds? 

(192) 



TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 193 

And why does friendship's golden link 

So bright appear, 
Just as the foot has reached the brink 

Where ruin 's near ? 



Alas ! 'tis always thus on earth ! 

The dearest tie, 
In love vouchsafed to mortal worth, 

Doth quickly die ! 

I'll never trust the midnight moon, 

Though full and bright; 
Nor cling to earthly joy, so soon 

To fade from sight. 

I'll never gaze on noonday sun, 

In heaven high, 
But with the thought his course's soon run, 

His light must die. 

I'll never love the rainbow's hue, 

Though bright and fair; 
For when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too 

Are lurking there. 
9 



194 TO GOD ALL TEUSTS BELONG. 

I'll never trust to friendship's chain, 
Though bright and strong; 

But to the Lainb for sinners slain 
All trusts belong. 



A FRAGMENT. 

The glorious sun was hastening 
To bid adieu to earth ; his farewell ray 
Was brightening, and his length' ning shadows 
Casting through the balmy spring-time air. 

All nature sought repose, and woo'd, by its 
Soft lullaby, the busy throng to rest. 

A strange, sweet sympathy upon my spirit 
Fell, which with the hour chimed in unison ; 
And gently touched the mystic chords 
That bind us to the spirit land, and swell 
The soul with love unutterable and -full of joy! 

Led by unseen hand, my footsteps wander'd 
To the habitation of the dead. I stood 
Beside a full grown grave — yea, two 
Blent in one: In life, "two bodies — one heart; 
In death, two bodies — one grave." 

And a charm, sad and sweet, 
Enchain'd me there. It was the last resting 
Place earth had to give those who, years agone, 

(195) 



196 A FKAGMENT. 

Had fondled in their arms, and to their 
Daughter's orphan child spoke words 
Of love and comfort. Sad memories of the past 
Crowded thick and fast upon my brain. 
The funeral throng, with solemn, measured 
Tread ; the crapen hearse ; the earth arrayed 
In sable garbs — as if it gave in sullen 
Mood the spirits lent — all appeared, in quick 
Review, before my spirit's gaze. And 
Repeating yet the still, small voice 
Which whispered : "I am the resurrection 
And the life, saith the Lord ; he that believeth 
In me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
Live: And whosoever liveth and believeth 
In me shall never die." 

The struggling sun breaks through 
The darkened clouds, and a bright rainbow 
Spans the arch of blue. 

The tall old cedar keeps nightly vigil, 
"While through the cypress blooms the beautiful 
Sunlight, in mellow radiance, brightens 
All around; and the eyes of heaven 
Look down in love upon those who sleep 
Beneath ! 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 

" The globe, that, in its present epoch, is the habita- 
tion and peculiar possession of the human race, appears, 
when regarded by itself, a body of imposing dimen- 
sions ;" but when night's dark drapery conceals from 
view its varied scenery, its picturesque landscapes, and 
busy thoroughfares, its sunshine and shade, then it is 
that the eye, the portal of the soul, turns to the " lights 
in the firmament of heaven." What transcendent 
glories meet it there ! The sky, the deep blue sky, be- 
studded with glittering orbs, pavilions this earth of 
ours! The moon in queenly majesty pursues her 
course through the chambers of heaven. What an in- 
spiring scene ! how elevating, how ennobling the con- 
templation of these {< emblems of the Infinite ! " 
"Kings have descended from their thrones" to ad- 
mire its beauty — to feel its power; "and humble 
shepherds, while watching their flocks by night, have 
beheld with rapture the blue vault of heaven, with its 
thousand shining orbs moving in silent grandeur, till 

(197) 



198 AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 

the morning star announced the approach of day ;" but 
by the astronomer alone — who views the mighty works 
of nature as stepping-stones to nature's God — is the 
scene fully comprehended — fully appreciated. 

Though appearing, to those unacquainted with astro- 
nomical science, to be situated at equal distances from 
us, yet shining with different degrees of intensity, as 
" one star differeth from another star in glory ;" he, by 
deep research, has ascertained that those bright worlds 
are not all situated at equal distances, but that many of 
them are millions of miles more remote than others : he 
knows that some of the smallest stars that twinkle with 
golden lustre on the bosom of night, are suns perhaps 
larger than our own proud luminary, surrounded by 
planetary worlds which receive from them light and 
heat, and the vicissitudes of day and night. With tele- 
scope in hand he joins the innumerable host, whose 
movements are not noted by the common eye — walks 
with Hesperus, and becomes familiar with Jupiter ! 
About the latter he tells many strange things. He 
says, instead of the bright planet which this orb appears, 
it is an irregular world, " like our globe, and has un- 
dergone similar convulsions." 

It has been estimated by the astronomer that there 
are one hundred millions of stars now visible through 
the telescope, which cannot be seen by the unassisted 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTEONOMEK IS MAD. 199 

eye. And is it not probable that in the regions of in- 
finite space there are countless worlds which man, not 
even by the aid of the most powerful magnify ing- 
glasses, will ever behold ? Far beyond the reach of 
mortal vision, they wheel on in their rapid course, un- 
seen save by the eye of Omnipotence, or the adoring 
angels and seraphim around the throne on high. Count- 
less as are these worlds, each, doubtless, has its own 
peculiar orbit, never interfering with the motions of an- 
other. The Power which placed them there has also 
appointed their bounds, beyond which they cannot 



Let us take an astronomical view of the solar system 
of which we form a part. This system consists of the 
the sun as a centre, around which the asteroids, and the 
principal planets, with their satellites, revolve. During 
a solar year, or in an interval of twelve months, our 
earth, at a distance of one hundred millions of miles 4 
describes an undeviating circle around this great central 
point. " Between the earth, and the centre of its mo* 
tion, there are two other bodies, named, on that account, 
the inferior planets ; and beyond it we find six superior 
orbs — the remotest, Neptune, being thirty times more 
distant than we are from the sun." The utmost bounds 
of this complicated system are enlightened by the sun, 
its great centre. The planets which surround him form 



200 AN TJKDEVOUT ASTKONOMER IS MAD. 

a geometrical series, each one being double the distance 
of its next interior planet from the sun. Mercury 
being nearest to the sun, and receiving from him a 
much greater degree of light and heat, is found to be 
the most dense of all the planets. The atmosphere of 
the planets is also thought to differ ! therefore, it may- 
be as comfortable at Neptune as at Mercury. If these 
planets are all inhabited as well as our earth, what a 
wise provision of Providence is this ! each planet pre- 
cisely adapted to the peculiar situation it occupies. Our 
globe, the third planet from the sun, is most favorably 
situated in the solar system ; nearly all the sister planets 
being visible to the naked eye. Its inhabitants may all 
look upon the silvery brightness of Mercury, the mild 
radiance of Venus, and the fiery splendor of Mars ; and 
its astronomers, by the aid of telescopes, may gaze upon 
Saturn with his " sky-girt rings " and seven moons; and 
Jupiter with his belts and satellites. What a generous 
display of the wisdom, power, and goodness of God ! 
"When we consider that all the planets composing the 
solar system, many of them hundreds of times larger 
than the globe we inhabit, are, without doubt, peopled 
by intelligent beings, formed to admire and adore the 
wonders of the universe, are not our minds impressed 
with the mighty power, benignity, and wisdom of Him 
who made them ? But when we reflect still further, 



AN TJNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 201 

that were our system, vast as it appears to us, to be 
stricken from the " Divine empire," it would scarcely 
be missed by His Omnipotent eye, then are we lost; 
and feel indeed that God's ways " are past finding out." 
What must be the immensity of the universe if such a 
system as ours is but as a grain of sand to the sea- 
shore — a drop of water to the ocean ? When we gaze 
upon the firmament of heaven, and see the moon " walk- 
ing in beauty," and the same stars which shone upon 
our happy childhood, inspiring it with lofty thoughts, 
the first, perhaps, it ever entertained, we feel as if to 
them no change could come. The very same orbs, in 
all their wonted brilliancy, are nightly shining over us 
which Abraham, and Job, and David looked upon with 
pious admiration. " Canst thou bind the sweet influ- 
ences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion ? Canst 
thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season ? or canst thou 
guide Arcturus with his suns?" are beautiful inquiries, 
replete with significance, which the Lord put to the 
faithful Job; and when the "sweet singer of Israel" 
considered the heavens the work of God's fingers, and 
the moon and stars which He ordained, he exclaimed, 
with a deep sense of his own impotence : " What is man, 
that thou art mindful of him ? and the son of man, 
that thou visitest him ? " 

The Pleiades and the bands of Orion gleam as 
9* 



202 AN UNDEVOTJT ASTRONOMER IS MAD, 

brightly now as then ; the same heavens proclaim the 
might of His handiwork ! But yet, even within the 
observation of mortals, there have been worlds which, 
having doubtless subserved the purpose of their creation, 
have been seen to burn brighter and brighter as the work 
of their consumption progressed, and then becoming 
fainter and still fainter, to disappear for ever from the 
starry host. And so it will be with this beautiful earth 
on which we live. "The day of the Lord will come as a 
thief in the night ; in the which the heavens shall pass 
aw;iy with a great noise, and the elements shall melt 
with fervent heat ; the earth also and the works that 
are therein shall be burned up." When it shall have 
accomplished the end for which designed, at a day and 
hour of which we know not, it shall be consumed. 
O, it seems that one look, through the medium of 
science, at the starry sky, would " elevate the soul 
above vicious passions and grovelling pursuits ;" 
would irresistibly lead the almost god-like energies 
of the mind to the Divine fulcrum of this mighty 
machinery ; that one look would constrain man to 
bow in humble adoration to Him who " rules in the 
armies of heaven, and doeth His will among the inhab- 
itants of earth." An astronomer who can devote 
his life to the sublime study of the heavenly bodies, 
and not exclaim, with deep humility of spirit, Great 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTKONOMEE IS MAD. 203 

and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty ! 
Thou art worthy to receive glory, and honor, and 
power, for thou hast " created all things, and for thy 
pleasure they were created," is a madman indeed. 



THE DKEAM OF LOVE. 

In girlhood's bright and sunny days, 

I had a dream of joy, 
That filled my soul with sweetest lays 

And bliss without alloy. 
I saw a noble, gifted youth, 

Who stood amidst the throng, 
Beloved, admired for the truth 

Which would not stoop to wrong. 



I saw enrapt ten thousand forms, — 

In sacred silence stood — 
By eloquence, his eloquence, 

Poured forth in crystal flood. 
I listened to his language bold; 

I looked upon his brow; 
I gazed into his eagle eye, — 

Whose light is with me now, 

(304) 



THE DREAM OF LOVE. 205 

Till language, brow and eye, enshrined 

Within my inmost heart ; 
With his my very soul entwined — 

Of his became a part. 
In secret long I nursed the flame 

Which shed so soft a light; 
Nor dreamed that he would ever name, 

Or heighten my delight. 

At length one balmy morn he came, 

And breathed into my ear 
The sweetest words I ever heard — 

The sweetest and most dear. 
His language I can ne'er recall, 

Though manna to my soul ; 
I only know his theme was love, 

And I the loved of all. 

I could not tell my love for him — 

It trembled on my tongue ; 
He saw it on my blushing cheek, 

And pressed it to his own. 
I could not breathe one single word, 

To tell him I was his ; 
But little beatings there were heard 

Of rapture and of bliss. 



206 THE DEEAM OF LOVE. 

Though, of love no word was spoken, 

Though breathed no vow to him, 
All the signs of love the token 

Were borne by cherubim, 
And written in the books of heaven, 

In characters of gold, 
To stand until the earth is riven, 

And heaven's joy unfold. 

In the pure ecstasy of love 

Passed sweet and happy days ; 
The angels round the throne above 

Taught me their joyous lays. 
And I essayed to touch the lyre, 

And sing love's sweetest song, 
In strains of heartfelt melody — 

In notes to God belong. 

In full sweet strains of joy I sang 

Of a cot in the vale ; 
And one lone minister of love, 

My loving heart to hail. 
And I sang of — I will confess — 

A darling, bright-eyed boy, 
My cottage in the vale to bless, 

His father's hope and joy. 



THE DEEAM OF LOVE. 207 

But in my song a note of woe, 

High o'er the rest was heard ! 
My dream of love will ne'er below 

Call forth a joyous word. 
'T was but a dream, too bright to last, 

And now from earth 'tis gone ; 
But mem'ry sad recalls the past 

And leaves my heart forlorn. 

Yes, the dream of love has passed away 

Unto the realms of night, 
Where never star nor sun is seen 

To shed one ray of light. 
And as a worn and wearied child, 

Upon its mother's breast, 
I'd lean my aching head on Thee, 

Thou only source of rest ! 

A bruised reed Thou wilt not break, 

ISTor quench the smoking flax; 
And though in anguish long I've wept, 

Thou'lt stay the fatal axe. 
I know if I but kiss the rod 

By Thee " in mercy sent, 
The staff of comfort from my God 

Shall in his love be lent." 



MY SPIEIT GROOM 

In life's gay morn and vernal bloom, 
We met and loved, my spirit groom ! 
My hand you sought with noble pride 
I knew myself your spirit bride, 
And gave at once a loving heart, 
Forgetting that the world could part 
The spirit bride and spirit groom, 
Or overcast their sun with gloom. 



Many long years we lived and loved, 
Many long years I gently moved 
A happy captive to love's sway, 
And dreamed of joy's unending day. 
No shadow dark, my spirit groom, 
O'er this bright scene did darkly loom ! 
But as the snake in Eden roved, 
The tempter came, and potent proved. 

(208) 



MY SPIRIT GROOM. 209 

Yes, Satan came with costly ore; 

The paltry stuff you did adore; 

And turned from me, your spirit bride, 

To lead another by your side, 

And call her " wife." O, spirit groom ! 

I'd have her loved, whatever my doom ; 

For blessings on her I'll implore ; 

Though sad my fate, I'll not deplore. 

Another claims my spirit groom ; 
Another rose for him doth bloom; 
A little bud opes by his side, 
And calls her "mother," his earth bride. 
And yet I love her — love her child, 
And love him too, with fervor wild. 
Wilt Thou, Lord! dispel this gloom, 
And guard with care my spirit groom ? 

Long years have flown since last we met, 
But still thy spell enchains me yet ; 
And naught can cheer this heart's sad gloom 
Save thoughts of thee, my spirit groom ! 
Thou 'it think of me when far away, 
I'll think of thee when knelt to pray ; 
Though years have flown since last we met, 
You love me still — 1 love you yet. 



210 MY SPIEIT GEOOM. 

O, love like yours, and love like mine, 
Too sacred was for earthly shrine ! 
"Our Father's House" alone hath room 
For love like ours, my spirit groom ! 
And though on earth we never meet, 
In heaven each the other ? 11 greet ; 
And, like the stars, our love will shine 
With radiance bright, godlike, divine. 



THE GIFT. 

Yes, I will keep it for thy sake : 

O, these are words of power, 
From parted love the sting to take, 

And soothe affliction's hour. 

For Friendship's sake that pledge I'll keep 
Through life's uncertain years; 

And e'en the eyes that o'er it weep 
Shall find a bliss in tears. 

The simplest gift from one we love, 

Retains a magic power; 
Dear to me the chain you wove, 

And dear the gathered flower. 

Yes, I will keep it for thy sake, 

My heart its shrine shall be ; 
And every wish that hope can wake, 

Shall blend through life for thee. 



(211) 



AN OASIS. 

I SAW a green oasis once 

Amidst a barren waste, 
Where bright, pellucid streamlets flowed 

Pure nectar to the taste; 
Where lilies and white roses grew, 

Marjoram and sweet thyme, 
The mignonette its fragrance threw, 

And fruits of ev'ry clime. 



In state the tall magnolia stood, 

And sweetly bloomed the while : 
The monarch of that favored wood 

Looked down with sweetest smile. 
And ev'ry little now'ret shed 

its perfume soft and sweet, 
And ev'ry little zephyr sped 

To bear it to God's feet. 

(212) 



AN OASIS. 213 

And many birds of plumage gay, 

And throats attuned to song, 
Their Maker's praise sang day by day, 

In chorus sweet and long. 
All nature joined the grateful strain, 

And trilled the joyous lay, 
Till zephyrs caught the strain again, 

And bore it far away. 

Upon that verdant spot by day 

The sun in beauty shone, 
Till like a sea of glory lay 

The flow'ret, tree and stone. 
And when the twilight hour came on 

With holy, rapturous spell, 
The moon in modesty looked down, 

And saw that all was well. 

No shiv'ring blast nor blighting frost 

Its loveliness did mar — 
The Storm-god, with destructive host, 

Kept from this spot afar. 
And Venus in her pathway bright, 

A brighter ray shed forth, 
As she beheld, with much delight, 

No ravage of the north. 



214 AN OASIS. 

Its Adam was a god-like man, 

Of form and brow erect ; 
And his fair face the impress bore 

Of thoughts from God direct. 
Its Eve was beautiful and good, 

And moved with angel grace, 
As, in the flowery wild-wood, 

With dew she bathed her face. 

Their children were a noble race, 

Living for good alone ; 
• "With not a single care to trace 

A line of sorrow's own. 
The serpent's trail ne'er entered there 

"With sin's destructive breath; 
And not a single human care 

Brought on a human death. 

All nature to their store bequeathed 

An off 'ring rich and bright ; 
The very atmosphere they breathed 

Was pure as heavenly light. 
" They worshipped in no lofty pile, 

No proud cathedral fane ; 
God's universal temple theirs — 

Hill, valley, wood and plain." 



AN OASIS. 215 

Their friendship never waxed nor waned, 

But stronger grew with time, 
Till, by the sacred spell enchained, 

Borne to still brighter clime. 
Their love — an angel's purest love 

More pure than theirs could be, 
But not on earth the chosen dove 

Could woo from sin more free. 

"Would you, dear friend, that Eden know, 

Amid what flow'ry plain, 
That you may enter bliss below, 

Nor live on earth in vain ? 
Wouldst thou shake off the coils of sin 

That bind thee to this earth, 
And hie thee to a "home wherein 

Sin never yet had birth? 

" Alas ! 'twas but a dream of night 

That showed that spot to me," 
And not on earth will spot so bright 

Be ever seen by thee. 



MY BIRD, 

Bied of the gay and joyous wing, 
Send forth again thy tuneful lay ! 

Sweet is the song thou e'er dost sing 
At dewy eve or break of day ! 

I love thy song ! its gentle strain 
Has oftiines cheered a lonely hour ; 

And now I list its notes again, 

And feel once more its soothing power. 

What makes thy heart, sweet bird, so light ? 

Ah ! naught of trouble thou dost know 
To mar thy joy, so fresh and bright, 

Or shadows cast by clouds of woe ! 

What makes thy tones so sweet and clear ? 

Hast thou an angel's voice, my love, 
To sing the hymns to mortal ear, 

Which vibrate round the throne above? 

(216) 



MY BIED. 217 

I would that I could join thy song, 
And sing with thee the lays of love ; 

But grief has closed my harp so long, 
It would not chime with thee, my dove ! 

There is no sorrow in thy song, 

Because no sin is in thy heart ; 
And he whose soul is kept from wrong, 

Has learned the secret of thine art : 

Has learned by faith to soar aloft, 

And trust in One who dwells on high, 

To cleanse from sin repeated oft, — 
Who'll hear his song beyond the sky. 

" Sweet bird ! with gladness in thy lay, 
And heaven's pure light upon thy wing, 

I seem to hear thy transport say, 

< Seek heaven, like me, if thou wouldst sing/ " 



10 



VERSES 

TO A BEAUTIFUL, THOUGH VERY SAD-LOOKING, YOUNG LADY THE 

WRITER SAW IN SOUTH-WESTERN GEORGIA 

Lady, we did but meet ; 

No introduction then; 
Thy name I could not greet, 

If we should meet again. 
And yet I felt for thee 

A sister's tender love, 
A sister's sympathy : 

O, may we meet above ! 

I saw on thy young brow 

The lines of deepest woe : 
They spoke not of joy now 

In any thing below. 
♦ And on thy blanched cheek, 

The rose's faded hue 
Of withered hopes did speak, 

And of withered joy too. 

(218) 



VEKSES. 219 

Hast thou no brother's arm 

To shield thee from distress? 
Or, if should come alarm, 

To seek for, thee redress?/ 
Hast thou no sister's love * 

To brighten thy blue eye, 
And point to realms above, 

Where pleasures never die? 

Hast thou no father old, 

To live for and to love? 
Gird on thine armor bold, 

And woo the olive dove ! 
Hast thou no mother dear, 

To soothe thy aching breast? 
Thy brother, Christ, is near — 

He'll give thee sweetest rest. 

Hast thou no friend to lend 

A helping hand to thee? 
Thy Father, God, will send 

A friend who'll constant be. 
" If love has seared thy heart, 

A glorious hope is given, 
Which soothes affliction's smart — 

There's purer love in heaven. n 



220 VEESES. 



0, if there is not one 

To follow thy lone bier, 
When life on earth is done, 

And shed a silent tear, 
Turn thy heart, so riven, 

Beyond the clouded sky, 
"To tenderer ties in heaven," 

"Where loved ones never die. 



IN THE GEAYEYAED 

In the graveyard see them lie, 

Quietly, side by side ; 
No anxious thought that mortal eye 
Should gaze approving, or deride, 
Disturbs them now; 
No broken vow, 
Nor cold averted look — 
Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
Shivers now the pulseless heart; 
These it never more will brook. 
Peacefully the baby lieth 

In its narrow bed of clay; 
While the soul that never dieth 

Lives in bliss through endless day: 
Love it, angels, love it dearly, 
Love it not as angels merely. 

Jesus said — 
And from his love-lit eye Divine 
Sparkled light too bright to shine 
Long on earth — 

(221) 



222 m THE GRAVEYARD. 

To me let little children come, 
And share my bright celestial home. 
Buds fresh and white, 
And diamonds bright, 
We ever want 
To glitter round the throne on high. 
Then love it, angels, love it dearly, 
Love it not as angels merely. 

In the graveyard see her lie, 
The youthful maiden fair; 
Called in the spring of life to die, 
In grief we laid her gently there:. 
The flower sprite, 
In sacred might 
To earth came down,^ 
And took the rose, 
And then arose 
Far above mortal sight; 

O ! in thy might again come down, 
And tell to us the joy she's won : 

From earth we know she's passed away — 
Her earth-light dimmed and turned to night; 

But faith points to a shining day, 
In which she basks in radiance bright — 
A flowret in that holy crown. 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 223 

In the graveyard see her lie, 

The aged mother dear ; 
No more the tear bedims her eye; 
No more oppressed by anxious fear ; 
No more exposed 
To human woes, 
For God has heard her life-long prayer, 
And now in peace she lieth there. 
Hath it flown, her spirit bright? 
Or lingereth it near its earth-worn garb? 
Or nearer still in darkest night 

To those on earth most loved? 
Points she still to that realm of light, 
Where Jesus is, from, earth removed? 
Or hear ye the notes of an angel's song, 
As upward and homeward it speeds along? 
O, list to those notes, 
As in ether it floats ! 
They will soothe thy spirit's sadness, 
And give peace to thee and gladness; 

And, perchance, 
They'll guide thy wandering footsteps 

In the paths of truth and love, 
And direct thy wayward spirit 

"To the bright, bright world above, 
"Where the holy angels move." 



224 IN THE GKAVEYAKD, 

In the graveyard see him lie, 

The honored statesman bold; 
His form doth moulder in the dust, 
His spirit shine more bright than gold 
O, why did this statesman, 
Nature's true nobleman, 
The silent grave enfold? 
Why does mortal worth 
Pass so soon from earth? 

Why the manly voice 
Hush so soon in death ? 
Why ascend to heavenly sphere ? 
His nation wants his service here, 
1 cease, vain heart ! 

His Saviour's praise 
"Now claims, apart, 
His joyous lays. 

In the graveyard see him lie. 

The patriot brave ; 
His country's call he quick obeyed, 
And gave his life to save. 
"Better that death 
Should come, than 'neath 
A tyrant's yoke to rest, 
Or be by foes oppressed/* 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 225 

He said : 

Better all the sweet joys of home — 

Its sacred love and tender ties — 
Should pass from time away, than come 

A despot's rule, and die as dies 
A coward mean." 
Thus fortified by valor strong, 
He bravely fought, but fell, ere long : 

And now his rest, so peaceful, seems 

To ask steps that will not break its dreams. 

In the graveyard see them lie, 

Quietly, side by side ; 
No anxious thought that mortal eye 
Should gaze approving, or deride, 
Disturbs them now ; 
No broken vow, 
Nor cold averted look — 
Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
Shivers now the pulseless heart ; 
These it never more will brook. 
Peacefully the baby lieth 

On its mother's breast of clay ; 
While the soul that never dieth 
Lives with Christ through endless day ; 
And never more on earth will wake, 
10* 



226 IN THE GEAVEYAED. 

The maid the sprite came down to take. 
And the mother, aged mother, 
Lies beside the aged father; 
And the sons, 
And lovely daughters, calm in death, 
Are waiting for undying breath. 

The poor man, 
And he by opulence made bold, 
Slumber alike both stiff and cold. 
The poet sweet, 
And artist, meet 
And mingle here. 
The statesman and the patriot brave, 
Side by side with the coward mean; 
They cannot now their country save ; 
He cannot now to weakness lean. 

O cruel grave! 
Thou tenement of all ! 
Not always will thy sway be felt ! 

As Jesus from the grave arose — 
As near his cross the heart doth melt, 
And breathe to him its earthly woes — 
So the buried dead 
Will burst apart thy fetters strong, 
Their mortal forms hath held full long; 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 227 

And, Christ at their head, 
"Will vanquish Death, their latest foe ; 
His form into the caverns throw: 
One mighty grave 
Will this tyrant have! 
There, through Eternity's long day, 
With naught to cheer his cheerless way, 
He'll lie alone. 
O Death, where is thy sting ? 
O Grave, where is thy victory ? 



EVERGREEN. 

I see the cottage in the glen, 
Remote from village, town, or fen, 
Where every touch of taste was shown 
A mother's hand alone, alone 
Could give to beautify the scene, 
And make the bliss of Evergreen. 

" 1 hear the fountain murmuring still, 

I see the sloping of the hill, 

And sward, and banks, and clumps of trees, 

Gently swayiDg in the breeze," 

Which gave enchantment to the scene, 

Around my home of Evergreen. 

I breathe the fragrance of the mead, 
And that which dost from fields proceed, 
And hear the songsters of the wood 
Pour forth their hymns — a vocal flood : 
I gaze enraptured on the scene, 
And live once more at Evergreen. 

0B8) 



EVERGREEN. 229 

I list once more to music's strain, 

And feel its soothing power again ; 

It wakes and stirs, with pleasing thrill, 

Emotions of the heart and will, 

In this elysian, rural scene, 

Where is my home, sweet Evergreen* 

And now I con the classic page, 

Or converse sweet with friends engage 

To cheer this heart, too soon grown sad, 

And make my spirit light and glad, 

Amid the quiet little scene 

Around my home, sweet Evergreen. 

And now I gaze on worlds afar, 
Outshining far the brightest star, 
And, wrapped in meditation there, 
I dream of all things bright and fair — 
Of things surpassing e'en the scene 
That beauty gives to Evergreen. 

Yes, all these things before me pass, 
With the aid of memory's glass ! 
But never more on earth will wake 
The bliss in youth I used to take, 
Amid the dear, romantic sceue 
W r hich gave the charm to Evergreen* 



A FRAGMENT. 

? Twas in the May-day of youth ! 
Her brow was fair as the page of truth ; 
No trouble had left its impress there ; 
And o'er it wreathed her dark brown hair. 
I saw the soul in her mild blue eye, 
Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye 
That beams midst Spring's ethereal showers, 
Brightening her world of shade and flowers. 
Her pure young heart was light and gay 
As Luna's beams on ocean spray; 
Her beauteous form appeared to sight 
Like an angel clad in robes of light ; 
"A foot more light, or a step more true, 
Ne'er from the heath-flower brushed the dew." 
I saw her crowned sweet queen of May, 
And reign in love that festal day ; 
Whilst every heart in homage low 
Did near its queen devoutly bow. 
I saw her again in woman's prime ! 
.Her heart beat not to music's chime ! 

(330) 



A FKAGMENT. 231 

And that marble brow, though very fair, 
Was marked by the lines of deep despair. 
And the soul I saw in her mild blue eye, 
Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye, 
No longer beamed with radiant love 
On aught beneath her home above. 
And too soon, alas ! that lovely form 
Bowed to the blast, and bent to the storm ; 
And slow and feeble her pulses played 
As her thoughts afar too often strayed. 
She moved a shadow — a spirit of fear, 
As one whose home is not of this sphere ; 
And walked the earth alone — alone, 
As one from every friend uptorn. 

" Was it sickness that made her cheek so pale, 
Or was it the trace of weeping and wail ? " 

" The deceiver came — his syroc breath 
Blanched her fair cheek with the hue of deatM 
And now, as a beautiful wounded bird, 
Whose rich-toned notes in each grove w T ere heard, 
'Till a thoughtless shot deep pierced its side, 
It never sang more, but languished and died ; 
She is passing from earth away — away, 



232 A FRAGMENT. 

Without one comforting, cheering ray, 
Her happiness wrecked, her spirit torn, 
And on life's current rudely borne, 
To stem the tide and buffet the wave, 
'Till she sink unwept to her welcome grave/ 



THE ZEPHYR. 

Daughter of Aurora ! whence comest thou, 
In beauty and freshness to kiss my warm brow ? 
All laden with sunshine — all laden with love, 
And sweet balmy nectar just dropped from above? 

" From the flowery walks of Valhalla I come, 

Where the rose's cup is my elysian home ; 

Fve been to the Queen of the Morn — at her call, 

I've borne sweet fragrance to her star-columned hall; 

Fve quivered the leaves of the forest boughs, 

And songsters have risen to warble their vows; 

I have kissed the sod where the green grass grows 

high, 
And the lark is now hymning her melody. 
I've been to the chamber of beauty, and there 
Have played with long ringlets of radiant hair : 
I've wreathed her fair neck which but the snow eclipsed, 
And sipped the rich dew from her odorous lips. 
I've carried the plaint of a love-burdened strain ; 



234 THE ZEPHYE. 

And the maiden blushed deep at the murmur of pain. 
'Twas the same gentle sigh which but yestereve fell ; 
It had kissed her soft hand, it had bid her farewell. 

I have been to the bleak house of death, and from 

thence 
Have winged the freed soul to Omnipotence ! 
'Twas an innocent, beautiful babe, and the sigh 
Of the mother was heard in the cloud-paths on high — 
Half mingled with prayer to the seraphim given, 
"Who smiled when it welcomed the baby to heaven. 
To Italians seas I go, where the gondola rides, 
Like a nymph of the deep, o'er the languishing tides ; 
Whilst waves one by one into slumber fast fall, 
And not a breath's heard save the Zephyr's call. 
'Tis the clamor of voices I hear swells the dome — 
Loud the call is for '■ Zephyr' — I come, I come, 
To your sun-lighted shores — to your bright seas away; 
There are wan ones awaiting, I dare not delay ; 
I've flower-loves to meet — I have vows to renew, 
I fan your warm brow — Adieu, lady ! adieu ! " 



SPKING. 

Thou'rt come again, sweet youth of time ! 

In all thy pristine sheen ; 
With voice attuned to music's chime, 

And robes of brightest green. 
Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 

And joy's fresh op'ning day ; 
And buds and blossoms thou dost bring 

To scatter by the way. 

Thy step is felt o'er hill and dale ; 

It glides along the main ; 
'Tis bounding o'er the modest vale, 

And quiv'ring o'er the plain. 
I feel thy impulse through me thrill, 

It throbs through heart and brain ; 
'Tis coursing through each little rill, 

And through each larger vein. 

(235) 



236 SPKING. 

The turtle's song is heard again, 

The cuckoo's gentle call! 
No more the nightingales complain 

Of Winter's frozen pall. 
The mockbird's song at early dawn, 

The thrush at noontide hour, 
And, as the dewy eve comes on, 

Humming-bird in rosy bower. 

Thou'rt come again, sweet youth of time ! 

Thy beauty spreads from pole to pole ! 
The sunny South, and Northern clime, 

Wake in joy at thy control ! 
Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing ; 

I see thy glory in the East ! 
The bird, and bee, and brooklet sing, 

As " light by light 's increased." 

Thou hast breathed into mother earth 

Thy fructifying breath, 
And " nature bounds, as from her birth 

She gathers might and strength. 
Already see the flowers start 

To " beautify her feet ; " 
Already feel the bounding heart 

Spring the flowers to greet. 



speing. 237 

The violets are blooming now, 

Where late the storm-god whirled ; 
And ice-drops from his shaggy brow, 

Are dewdrops now by zephyrs stirred. 
The crocus, and the lilac's hue 

Is fitting now a royal king ; 
The hyacinth and tulip, too, 

Their tributes of rich fragrance bring. 

Thou'rt come again, sweet youth of time, 

With merry pleasant hours, 
And voice attuned to music's chime, 

In fairy woodland bowers. 
Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 

And roses on thy brow ; 
And beauty's smile on every thing 

Which decks thy pathway now. 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

" For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and 
lose his own sonl? or, what shall a man give in exchange for his 
soul? " 

Startling questions ! Momentous inquiries ! Ques- 
tions which, if not found in the book of God, but 
simply propounded by man to his fellow-man, how 
deeply even then would he be impressed with their 
weighty importance, their startling suggestions ! How 
much more weighty, how much more startling then 
should they appear, addressed to us, as they are, by the 
Holy Spirit Himself. All will admit that the salvation 
of the soul is of more worth than any, or all, mere 
earthly possessions or attainments, however desirable 
these may be. These questions teach the doctrine that 
the soul is immortal, therefore of more worth than the 
whole perishing world besides. "Wealth, earth's most 
treacherous gift, is nevertheless valuable ; it commands 
for the possessor every earthly comfort and every earthly 
luxury: it gratifies his appetite, indulges his passions, 
and purchases position ; it allures the weak, it conquers 

(238) 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 239 

the strong, and is the idol of multitudes, When 
properly managed and judiciously appropriated, wealth 
is valuable to man. In the hands of the wise, wealth 
is power, and its possessor an almost universal con- 
queror. But wealth belongs to earth ; it abideth not 
with man, 

"Wealth hath never given happiness, but often has- 
tened misery." 

Knowledge, too, is valuable. Knowledge is wealth 
of the most durable character ; she possesses a wand 
which commands for her possessor a nobler happiness, 
a more exalted destiny • and weaves for his brow a 
chaplet of imperishable renown, whose bright colors 
will fade but with the end of time. But knowledge 
shall fade, her devotees be transformed to dust, her 
laurel- wreathed altars crumble to decay, tongues and 
prophecies lie stilled in death. 

Power is valuable : it elevates to the very summit of 
earthly bliss. To be the observed of observers, as the 
one preeminent, to govern and command, is pleasing to 
the soul of man — is the acme of the bright but illu- 
sive grandeur of human happiness. But it, like w r ealth 
and knowledge, abideth not with man. 

Wealth is terrestrial, and, however useful as a means, 
passeth away. Knowledge, when confined to earthly sci- 
ences, however the glory of its attainments may ennoble 



240 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

the mind and feast the intellect, perishes ; and power, the 
poor brief power with which man is invested, is but 
weakness ! Either of these great objects of man's am- 
bition, however conducive to his temporal happiness, is 
mortal, and, in its very best estate, must perish in its 
use. The occupant of a palace, the presiding deity of 
millions, lies down in a little narrow house of clay, with 
the poverty of him who tenanted a hovel, scarcely com- 
manding the subsistence of a day. The philosopher, 

" Who knew all learning, and all science knew; 
And all phenomena in heaven and earth, 
Traced to their causes," 

with the simple man 

" Who never had a dozen thoughts 
In all his life, and never changed their course," 

both stripped alike in death ; and the king, 

"The man condemned to bear 
The public burden of the nation's care," 

in the grave is too often more impotent than the subject ; 
for the power of the kingdom protects the tomb of the 
subject, while the king dies in banishment and is buried 
in exile. Human life, in its purest form, surrounded 
by all the heart holds dear, is but vanity and vexation 
of spirit. Man, " poor pensioner on the bounties of an 
hour, walketh in a vain show." Why should he strive, 
why should he toil to obtain either of these the surest 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 241 

sources of earthly happiness, if life, and all that per- 
tain to it, so soon be gone ? 

But will not human wealth, and knowledge and power 
combined, secure the happiness he craves ? Hath not 
human effort, industry and ingenuity often combined 
them? And what did they bring to the possessor? 
Happiness ? No ! 

" For who did ever yet, by honor, wealth, 

Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find ? 
Who ever ceased to wish, when he had health? 
Or, having wisdom, was not vexed in mind ? " 

Field joining field, waving and laden with autumn's 
golden grain ; Minerva standing by, industriously, 
gloriously, analyzing, compounding, increasing, com- 
manding the product of its wealth ; then rising in the 
majesty of her own queenly power, to gather and con- 
trol productive industry from still brighter fields, of 
larger dimensions and nobler range, in yonder star-lit 
plains, whose husbandman giveth the increase ; increas- 
ing, producing, expanding, in the proudest nobility of 
man ! — this were a higher happiness than earth hath 
ever known, and yet it were vanity; for the golden 
bowl is broken at the fountain, the daughters of music 
laid low, and man goeth to his long home ! Hope 
whispers not of bliss unfading in yonder heaven. Faith 
points not to the Lamb which taketh away the sin of 
the world. Who then will deny that he walks in a 

1; 



24:2 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

vain show ? Who then will deny that his life, without 
the hope of a blissful immortality, is a shadow, and 
his earth-born happiness emptiness and vanity? De- 
pravity — universal and destructive depravity — the 
demon spirit that rears its altars at the expense of 
every earthly good, and then brings as its oblation purity 
and hope, which it consumes with fiendish delight, has 
made a wreck of human happiness ; and the undying 
part of man, unsatisfied by mere temporal good, weeps 
in agonizing bitterness over the mockery of life. Nor 
does death itself, the end of all things sublunary, 
dispel its anguish : upon the graves of the departed it 
keeps its nightly vigils and its eternal moanings. 

We have immortal souls — O, what an incentive to 
good ! — which soar above the earth, which death can- 
not imprison, which only eternity can measure in its 
duration of existence ; and before another sun brightens 
the earth, the dark cloud of death may cast its shadow 
over all that is beautiful in life, the cold grave entomb 
all that is dear to the heart, and may even be open to 
receive these bodies of ours • but our souls, without re- 
generation, will live in the dreadful desolation of death, 
shall weep in endless hell, when the conqueror of life 
shall be destroyed, and the very funeral pall of Time 
itself be white as snow. O, what is worth a thought, 
what is deserving a moment's consideration, when put 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 243 

in the balance with the immortal part of our being ? 
Is wealth ? No ! Though the wealth of both Indies 
and the diamonds of Golconda were ours, to-morrow we 
die, and these our goods may become the possessions of 
enemies, to the oppression of our own heirs : 

" Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, 
The dangers gather as the treasures rise." 

Is knowledge? 

•'Sorrow is knowledge; they who know the most, 
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, 
The tree of knowledge is not that of life ; " 

and though we were master of all science and the very 
light of philosophy, to-morrow we die and shall find no 
consolation in human wisdom. Is the power of kings ? 

11 Earth's highest station ends in * here he lies,' 
And 'dust to dust' concludes her noblest song." 

When did the turbid tide of death roll back at the 
command of kings ; or the crown of the dead give se- 
curity to the heir ? The wealth of the world, the wis- 
dom of Solomon, and the power of crowned heads com- 
bined I — they dwindle into insignificance when put in 
the balance with the immortal spirit of man. " As the 
mortal to the immortal ; as the dead to the livino; I " 

Wisdom is powerless to attempt the measure of an 
argument : " For what shall a man give in exchange 
for his soul?" 

" Nothing is worth a thought beneath, 
But how I may escape the death 
That never, never dies." 



244: THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

This great preparation of the soul should be the grand 
object of human pursuit. It cannot be repeated too 
often, that the accomplishment of this great work is 
worth a lifetime of the most arduous toil, the most try- 
ing sacrifices. 

There is implanted within the breast of every rational 
being a longing for immortality ; to die, to pass away 
and be no more, is revolting to every reflective mind. 
But what would immortality be without the redemption 
of the soul ? without a saving grace which taketh away 
the sin of the world ? A death that never, never dies I 

What is it to be a redeemed soul ? It is to possess, 
to the fullest extent, that which our reason tells us con- 
stitutes perfect happiness; it is the possession of wealth 
without the ensign of poverty ; the possession of knowl- 
edge which aspires to heaven, and passeth not away; 
the possession of power which subdues death and robs 
the grave of victory ; it is everything combined, which 
human reason, true to herself, calls happiness — esteems 
valuable beyond estimate. 

Let us see what it is to be a lost soul ! It is a heart- 
rending personification of poverty; poor, naked pov- 
erty, in its most abject condition ; poverty that the 
wealth of kings and emperors cannot enrich ; it is ignor- 
ance that the knowledge of man cannot educate; it is moral 
darkness that the world cannot illuminate; it is weakness 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 245 

that the powers of earth cannot make strong. This little 
pigmy world, with its scenes of conflict and strife, where 
the unsatisfied mind is tantalized and disappointed in 
her every effort to obtain complete happiness, is trouble 
enough for finite fortitude ; but to be cut off from hope 
which ventures beyond the narrow confines of time, from 
life everlasting, and to be doomed to inhabit the deep 
chambers of despair in unfathomed hell — banished irre- 
vocably from the presence of God — the last hope of 
rescue extinguished : This it is to be a lost soul ! 

Anguish, deep and heart-felt, may envelop in dark 
clouds our spirits to-day, but to-morrow's sun dispels 
the gloom. Pain in the night, acute, excruciating, sub- 
sides in the morning ; but in eternity no hope of the 
day's return comforts the lost soul ; no bow of promise 
spans the fiery abyss ; trouble and sorrow, anguish and 
conflagration, never terminate ; the light of eternal life 
beams full and brilliant upon the liquid fire, not to 
inspire hope, but a greater and more accurate knowledge 
of the soul's eternal loss. 

The thrilling questions, asked in all the impressive- 
ness of a Saviour's solicitude for dying man, which we 
have chosen for the subject of our remarks, plainly, un- 
mistakably imply that the rejected soul finds its way to 
that fiery abyss through its own neglect of the great 
overtures of mercy extended to it by a crucified God, all 



246 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

powerful to save; and with every other source of trouble 
in perdition,the thought that we wilfully, deliberately, 
of our own free will and choice, made our destiny eter- 
nal woe, will doubly augment the dreadful suffering — 
will plunge us infinite fathoms deeper in the torturing 
lake. 

The inquiry suggests : Is it indeed true that we are 
the controllers here of the destiny of our immortal souls 
in yonder vast, limitless eternity ? Yes ; the united 
testimony of the inspired writers teaches that we are 
as much the directors of our immortal as of our mortal 
destiny. Yea, more ; it teaches that we may secure the 
salvation of our souls, while the acquisition of a world's 
wealth, the acquisition of a world's wisdom, the acquisi- 
tion of a world's power were impossible, and, if it were 
possible, would avail us nothing in eternity. Yes, these 
are the sublime teachings of the meek and lowly Jesus, 
the risen Saviour and eternal God. It is ours to secure 
immortal bliss, or unending woe ; to shine a bright 
luminary in the pure, galaxy of angels, or to be en- 
shrouded in midnight darkness ; to sing praises with 
Moses and the Lamb, or to shriek in despair for ever. 

We are not now suspended between heaven and hell, 
without a bias to the choice of either. This j)osition is 
but the too common error — fair and jnausible, even 
palatable to the understanding in theory, but false and 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 247 

poisonous in practice. This is an error fraught with 
destruction to immortal beings ; this is an error which 
has kept many from the Cross of Calvary. 

If a man does not secure the salvation of his soul, 
must he not endure the eternal wrath of God ? Yes, 
as surely as the God exists who promulgated that the 
wages of sin is eternal death. Christ never taught the 
doctrine for which careless sinners contend ; He never 
set life and death, heave a and hell, before men who were 
disposed to the choice of neither; He did not take upon 
Himself the form of man and come into the world to 
glorify the supposed free volition of man in enabling 
him to save himself. He came seeking to save the lost, 
those over whom sin had dominion: He came in might 
to break open the prison-house of the bound; He came 
to set the captive free ; He came to proclaim glad tid- 
ings to a dying world ; He came to give the free agency 
of life to the spiritual dead, who have no agency to the 
right. To-day He comes to us — to those lost to holi- 
ness, lost to life, lost to happiness, lost to heaven — He 
comes with the white garments of holiness, the great balm 
of life, the great secret of happiness, the key to heaven, 
and offers them without money and without price. Who 
will refuse such great gifts ? who will refuse to be made 
alive ? He stands above the tomb of buried hopes to- 
day, and says to the dead : " Come forth unto life ;" to 



248 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

the sick, he says : " Take up your bed and loalk ; " to 
the blind, he says : " Behold thy Saviour ; " to the deaf, 
he says : " Hear the word of the Lord; " and to the 
poor, he says : " Ye have the Gospel preached unto you, 
and blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me." 

Does this not look like Jesus came to set life and 
death before men free to choose either ? He says : 
"Choose life and live, or drink the wrath of God" 

Is it not also plain that he who is perfectly free to 
choose either of two things, is equally free to choose 
neither ? And Grod, our Saviour, therefore, upon this 
principle of human volitiou, fails entirely to the end of 
man's probation, and salvation by grace becomes the 
merest song of the idle imagination. Unholy, impious 
thought, which seeks to elevate man by depressing and 
blotting the revelation of God ! 

Has sin the dominion ? Are we then without a bias 
to choose weal or woe, heaven or hell ? Is not sin our 
prior choice, the troublesome current in our life which 
we cannot control ? It flows on, it flows ever, anxious, 
disturbed, with swollen waters and increasing flow ; it 
rolls us into the lake which burnetii with fire and brim- 
stone, unless the fatal stream be broken, and its springs 
be dried up in time. He, therefore, who would pamper 
the pride of his depravity, the lust of his flesh, with 
the variety of choice, in the freedom, the recklessness 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 249 

of volition, is the enemy of his own soul, the destroyer 
of his own immortal happiness. The choice to life 
proposed in the heavenly philosophy, in the Divine 
economy, to eternal life in Christ, our ransom, is from 
heaven. There is a hope, and but one way of hope, to 
escape the fearful punishment of sin ; there is a holiness, 
and but one way of holiness, that leads up to heaven ; 
there is the Christ, the appointed choice in God's ap- 
pointed salvation to the lost soul. For out of this 
appointed salvation, this salvation through Christ, our 
God is a consuming fire. Must we not choose the one 
way of life, the appointed way of salvation, to escape the 
everlasting death of the soul ? Is not the soul's estate 
before it embraces this appointed salvation one of 
spiritual death, without hope and without God in the 
world ? I read in the blessed Book of God that when 
there was no eye to pity man, and no arm to save him 
from death, then Jesus loved him. O wondrous love 
and pity, beyond our highest thought ! Jesus loved the 
sinner in his sinful, lost estate. With an arm of power 
He enters the prison-house of death, and brings life and 
immortality to light. I read that He comes to-day, 
and says : " I am the Truth and the Life ; choose me 
and live ! " and so far from leaving man to exercise 
a depraved volition, divine love pleads with him for 
acceptance; reasons with him of ability to forgive his 
11* 



250 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

sins and make him holy ; entreats his acceptance of the 
Saviour for his own good ; warns him that there is no 
other way to escape the eternal wrath of God — the 
eternal death of his soul. His Word, His Spirit, and 
His Providence he offers to sinful man, and they are his 
if he accepts them, to teach, to guide and to save. Who 
would not receive this salvation and live? And, 0, 
who would reject it and receive the wrath of God? 
God, who is free to will the salvation of his creature, 
hath willed, decreed man's life, and has not willed or 
decreed the death of any man, but that all would come 
to Him and have life everlasting. If man escapes not 
the damnation of hell, it will not be because God willed 
his punishment ; it will be because he rejects the decree 
of life — the great salvation appointed in Christ. 

This is the great difficulty with those who delay the 
acceptance of this appointed salvation ; they entertain 
the idea of physical power in connection with the decree 
of life : whereas God is a Spirit, and the decree to sal- 
vation is spiritual, therefore cannot do violence to the 
spiritual man ; that part of man which is born of the 
spirit of God is the spiritual man ; and that which is 
born of the flesh is flesh. It is not physical change ; it 
is not a new creation of the physical man for which 
immortality pants and sighs : it is a redemption of the 
spirit from the death of depravity which makes the 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 251 

luxuriant earth a barren desert to the soul. The re- 
demption of the soul is precious. Who should be 
anxious much as to his physical man ? What profit 
here ? But O ! his soul ! his fettered, lost, immortal 
soul, where shall he find a ransom ? 

Thanks to God for his unspeakable gift. God has 
found a ransom ; he hath laid help on one who is 
mighty to redeem ; and in the appointment of his love 
he comes to all. He finds way to every lost spirit 
— for he is a Spirit — through the physical man, with- 
out violence, without let or hindrance, to the laws of 
the physical constitution. He offers freedom to the 
captive soul ; he unbinds the fettered, spirit ; he speaks, 
and it is done; the liberated spirit leaps for joy ; salva- 
tion and the sinner are locked in close embrace ; the 
lost is found ; the soul is saved. 

This is the way to heaven ; this is the way our fathers 
trod. Let us be warned of the coming wrath. Let us 
embrace the Christ appointed. Let us enter the good 
old ship of Zion : 

At anchor safe within the bay she rides; 
Nor heeds the danger of the swelling tides: 
Faith, Hope, sind Prayer her steadfast anchors prove, 
With resignation to the powers above. 

God is too good to tantalize a poor lost soul with this 
variety of choice; Heaven regards sinners, as they 
really are, the objects of pity. The spirit fallen through 



252 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

its own choice of evil, and the totality of its depravity, 
constitutes the continual tendency to all evil ; Heaven 
compassionates the poor lost soul, and so far from say- 
ing to the bound in sin, loose thyself, she approaches it 
in the more rational way ; she says : " I know thy sin 
and thy just deserts; I know thy weakness, that thou 
canst not make one hair white or black ; but I have 
loved you with an everlasting love ; I have redeemed 
you with great power, and have laid help upon one who 
is mighty to save; I have wrought out a righteousness 
which can save you ; I give it to you freely ; in this 
way only can you escape ; receive now the grace of God 
and live, or reject it and die in your sins. It is my 
will that you live ; it is my choice ; I have chosen you 
in Christ to everlasting life, that you should go and 
bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain; 
that whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in my 
name, he may give it to you I" How any lost soul can 
resist the appeal of God's love, is one of the inexplica- 
bilities of human depravity. 

Yes, God so loves sinners, that he gave his only- 
begotten Son to die for them, that they may have ever- 
lasting life. Why will they then fret their day of grace 
away in useless speculations as to the way of life ? Jesus 
says : " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden ; take my yoke upon you ; learn of me, and find 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 253 

rest to your souls ;" and again, " Ye will not come to 
me and have life." This address must be to those 
capable of exercising such a process of reason in regard to 
the facts contained in it, as shall bring the understanding 
to the point of the gospel address ; which is, that sinners 
are fallen spirits, lost souls, and there is no escape from 
everlasting punishment, but in the mercy of God as 
proclaimed in Christ, the appointed Saviour ; and this 
operation of the reason brings us to the very point of 
the whole matter. The Bible plainly says, if saved at 
all, it must be through the mercy of God, not by works 
which we can do; and reason,, looking to the facts, 
arrives at the very same conclusion- in reference to sal- 
vation. What then can sinners do but fall at the feet 
of sovereign love, and say : If I perish, I perish ; I 
have no hope but in the mercy, the undeserved, uncon- 
ditional mercy of God ; I have no claim to such mercy; 
but, though my sins are great, I will venture to ap- 
proach the mercy-seat ! I can but perish if I go, I am 
condemned already ; this is my only mode of escape. 

Have we reached this point ? Then light hath entered 
in — life is given 

We must submit to the salvation of God ; we must 
be born again, not by the flesh nor the will of man, but 
by the will, the power of God. To seek out the lost, 
then, and to secure our redemption from the power of 



254 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

sin, is the object of Jesus' mission to earth ; and it is 
because He comes to us by his word, His Providence, 
and His Spirit, and in His loving interest for the sal- 
vation of our souls, inclines us to choose Him, that we 
are enabled to choose at all the way of life. Does this 
look like a choice of human, depraved volition only ? 
Is it not rather the choice of Christ, the choice of the 
benevolent Deity, our only Saviour ? Yes, reason does 
and must see a necessity for the interposition of Divine 
will to life ! Must see that without this Divine will to 
life, humanity, lost, must wail forever the universal 
wreck of her happiness. 

" For what is man profited if he shall gain the whole 
world and lose his own soul ? or, what shall a man give 
in exchange for his soul ? " These important questions 
are an argument of Jesus, by which he would incline 
us to the choice of true happiness; and since our choice 
of life everlasting is dependent on the j^redetermining 
choice of Christ, the riches of his love as exhibited to 
us in the predestination of our souls to eternal life, we 
should accept the offered choice ; if we do not, we are 
lost souls, and the possession of the whole world could 
not save us from sorrow. It is the. grace of God that 
saves souls. By grace we enter into the grace of salva- 
tion ; because of grace abounding in the gift of life, we 
enter in, or it is freely given to us to enter in. In the 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 255 

tenth chapter of the Gospel of St. Mark, the Saviour 
teaches us the way to Christ : the question is plainly 
asked, the answer is given in the same beauty of sim- 
plicity : " Good Master ! what shall I do that I may 
inherit eternal life ? " "Verily I say unto you/' says 
Jesus, " whoever shall not receive the kingdom of God 
as a little child, he shall not enter therein." Now, this 
lost soul, it appears, was in quest of eternal life, and he 
ran to Jesus, and propounded the question to him. 
Jesus said : " Knowcst thou the commandments ? " 
" All these have I kept from my youth up," said the 
young man ; " but I have not found eternal life. What 
lack I yet?" Jesus looked upon him and loved him; 
he was in the right way ; he had qualified himself for 
eternal life so far as man can qualify himself, as he 
supposed, and yet he lacked something, he knew, but 
knew not what that something was. With an anxious 
mind he ran to Jesus : " I am in quest of eternal life ; 
my soul is not satisfied with its portion ; I have searched 
the Scriptures ; I have kept the commandments ; I have 
done all I can ; I have prepared the way ; I no relief 
can find : Jesus, Master, what lack I yet ? " 

We should particularly notice that human reason, in 
her quest, brought this young man to Christ ; we should 
notice that he was kindly received ; and we should also 
notica that he lacked but one thing, and that that was 



256 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

everything to him. He had not yet learned that jus- 
tification unto life is the treasure from heaven. Human 
reason sought a justification in the deeds of the law, but 
found it not. In the search, however, he found Christ 
coming in the way; and presents himself, where reason 
fails, to the Saviour for further instructions. He seems 
to have been in earnest in the pursuit of life : " What 
lack I yet ? I wait thy further command." Well 
might Jesus love him ; for here is an ardor and anxiety 
on the part of this young man in relation to his salva- 
tion, that is lovable, most lovable : " What lack I yet ? 
I am determined in my search ; no sacrifice will be too 
dear; I have done much already; I have kept all the 
commandments : what lack I yet ? " 

Human reason, the proud guardian of man's destiny 
in this fallen world, calculated on some great sacrifice, 
and was prepared to make it ; but she was not prepared 
to yield up herself into the hands of another. 

Jesus looked upon him, and loved him, and said: 
" One thing thou lackest. Go sell all thy goods, and 
give to the poor ; then come, take up thy cross, follow 
me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven/ 7 And the 
young man went away sorrowful, for he was very rich. 
He w T as not prepared to make the sacrifice required ; he 
was not prepared to receive the kingdom of God. He 
lacked but one thing, and that one thing he was not 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 257 

prepared to do. He, therefore, went away sorrowful. 
Had he been as a little child, he would have done as 
Jesus bade him ; he would have received the kingdom 
of God. But it is asked : How could he, being a man, 
receive the kingdom of God as a little child ? Jesus 
has answered this question also : He could have been 
born of the Spirit then and there, by the will and power 
of. God, without violence to his physical man, and as a 
child of heaven. 

But he went away sorrowful. Perhaps if noble 
reason had been as willing to sacrifice self and self-love as 
to keep the commandments ; had he been willing to give 
up all to the sovereign mercy of God, peradventure he 
had not gone away sorrowful. 

"We are explicitly taught, however, that we cannot 
do anything which will enable us to inherit eternal 
life. We can do nothing but receive the grace of God, 
which brings salvation. The condition of the accep- 
tance of the grace of God is not the doing of anything 
to bring salvation, but it is the receiving of the offered 
grace of God which brings salvation. The very per- 
formance of the condition, therefore, is a virtual sur- 
render to the sovereign mercy of God, in order to the 
soul's salvation at the hand of the merciful God. 

Now, if we lack but one thing, and will submit our 
proud and sinful souls to the sovereign mercy of God, 



258 THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

we will not go away sorrowful. The entrance of light 
shall give life, and we shall live forevermore. If we 
stay away we know we shall perish, and if we come to 
Him we will be kindly received and loved; for He 
loves lost souls; and if we come to Him aright, lacking 
nothing, it is His pleasure, His purpose, and His pre- 
rogative to save. 

We claim rightfully, rationally the choice of our des- 
tiny. And there is an appeal to our reason by a pow- 
erful motive of love ; a love that is life. A Saviour is 
ready, able, and willing to redeem us. Will we accept ? 
"Will we choose Him and live? Will we make our 
election sure ? Will we save our souls ? Shall the 
great reprieve which props our house of clay be ours in 
vain ? Shall the love of God, as exhibited to us in the 
glorious plan of salvation, be ours in vain ? O let us 
save our souls ! 

" For what is a man profited if he shall gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul?" 



TO THE MEMOEY OF CAPTAIN 
JOHN B. ROWAN, 

3d Maryland Artillery, C. S. A., "who fell mortally wounded 
near Nashville, Tenn., the 16th Dec, 18G4. 

Let others touch the lyre to kings, 
And sing of deeds of high renown ; 

In love I'll touch its muffled strings, 
And sing of one in death gone down, 

As the radiant sun goes down, 

Scattering a flood of glory, 
"Whose tints outshine a royal crown, 

E'er described in song or story. 

Not in the tender bloom of youth, 

Ere reason's sway had been unfurled : — 

In noble manhood's love of truth, 

He braved the wrath by passion hurled. 

And proudly donned a suit of grey, 

And proudly marched to duty ; 
His children's cries could not delay, 

Nor the pleading eyes of beauty. 



260 TO THE MEMORY OF CAPT. J. B. ROWAN. 

On old Virginia's honored soil, 
First he pitched his soldier's tent; 

Then to Georgia's flowery vales 

And mountains high he slowly went. 

For four full years he fought and bled, 
Contesting ev'ry foot of land ; 

And four full years to vict'ry led 
From Tennessee to ocean strand. 

First in the conflict, last to yield, 
He was never known to falter; 

And burnished bright was valor's shield 
He laid on his country's altar. 

With fame achieved at length he falls 
In deadly strife, the carnage great ; 

The sanguinary scene appals 
Many a heart now desolate. 

But he " shall not forgotten lie," 

Though round his grave no martial tramp ; 

The name, the deeds shall never die 

Of him — "the life of field and camp." 

He fought, he bled, he died to save 

All that is dear to liberty; 
And the soil hallowed as his grave, 

Shall yet bear fruits of victory. 



I AM DREAMING. 

I AM dreaming — fondly dreaming, 

Of the happiness of yore, 
Of the blissful, peaceful moments 

Gone forever — evermore. 
In those departed, sunny hours 

I had visions bright and fair, 
And garlanded fresh flowers 

For my raven-colored hair. 

I am dreaming, sadly dreaming, 

Of elysian moments past; 
Of the days that knew no sorrow, 

Of the years that fleeted fast. 
Then the future seem'd before me 

" Like a rose-begirded path 
Adown which. I long'd to wander," 

'Mid the dreams a poet hath. 

(261) 



262 I AM DEEAMING. 

I am thinking, I am thinking, 

Of the changes Time has wrought; 
Of his cold touch and silent tread, 

And the desolation brought. 
There's an end to all my dreaming 

In the ruins round me cast; 
There's an end to hope's bright beaming 

In the shadows of the past. 

Many a cheerless, blighted home 

In his path the "War-god made; 
Many a noble hero fell 

By his cold, relentless blade. 
In my home amid the Southland, 

The blood-stained banner waves 
O'er the greensward of a brother, 

And his gallant comrades' graves. 

O'er hill and dale the black Typhoon, 

With .wide open sails has swept; 
His darken'd garments drench'd in brine, 

By sorrowing ones oft wept. 
His blighting touch and withering breath 

Naught in his pathway left, 
But sickness, sorrow, pain and death, 

And hearts of eVry joy bereft. 



I AM DREAMING. 263 

And though eight long and dreary years, 

Have passed o'er my head, 
My heart, like desert sands, retains 

The deep marks of their tread. 
There's an end to all my dreaming 

In the ruins round me cast; 
There's an end to hope's bright beaming 

In the shadows of the past. 



"WEARINESS. 



I am tired of tears and laughter, 
And men that laugh and weep; 
Of what may come hereafter 
For men that sow to reap. 
I am weary of days and hours- 
Blown buds and barren flowers; 
Desires and dreams and powers. 
And everything but sleep. 



I AM tired of fame and glory, 
And drawing painful breath ; 
Of life's dull, irksome story, 
That no sweet romance hath. 
I am weary of books and reading ; 
Of paths no whither leading ; 
And feet both torn and bleeding, 
And everything but death. 

I am tired of men and mortals, 
And worlds to devils given ; 

Of suns in eastern portals, 
And flowers that fade at even, 

(264) 



Swinburne. 



WEARINESS. 265 

I am weary of strife eternal, 
Of fiends and sins diurnal, 
Of smokes and fires infernal, 

And everything but Heaven. 

I am tired of ghouls and glourring; 

Of worms with gloating rife ; 
Of hideous things devouring 
My limbs where once was life. 
I am weary of death and sleeping; 
Of the grave my body keeping ; 
And wait the glorious reaping 
Of the Resurrection Life 



12 



